


The Granger Principle

by Starfox5



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dimension Travel, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 155,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28531719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starfox5/pseuds/Starfox5
Summary: It seemed like a routine assignment for CI5 officers Ron Weasley and Harry Potter: Investigate a physicist who had caught the attention of some unsavoury elements. Little did they know that Dr Hermione Granger would turn out to have more secrets than Ron would have thought possible.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 88
Kudos: 23





	1. The Routine Assignment

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in an Alternate Universe. Therefore, a number of canon events in Wizarding Britain didn't happen. 
> 
> I’d like to thank fredfred and InquisitorCOC for beta-reading.

**South Kensington campus, Imperial College London, London, July 5th, 2005**

“And here I thought we’d escaped school for good!” Ron Weasley exclaimed as he looked at the entrance to the South Kensington campus. “But, like in a bad movie, our dark past has finally caught up with us after a scant few years of freedom.”

“Very funny,” his partner and best mate, Harry Potter, replied. Ron didn’t have to look at him to know he would be rolling his eyes. “You know why we received this assignment.”

“Bones thinks that it’s a safe assignment so you won’t end up in the hospital again, forcing her to reassign half a dozen people to cover your absence?” Ron smirked. “She should know better; you’ve gotten hospitalised on a trip to the supermarket, after all.”

Harry snorted. “I recognised and arrested a wanted suspect.” And killed two of the man’s accomplices, Ron knew, while wounded.

“Well, keep your gun holstered here; Bones takes a dim view of killing students.”

“She’s obviously too old to remember what they’re like,” Harry shot back, “or she’d order us to cull the campus of the worst idiots.”

“Malfoy graduated in our year,” Ron remarked.

His friend snorted in response. “He wouldn’t be caught dead in a physics department, anyway. Unless it’s to ‘pick up birds’.”

“Well, not this bird,” Ron said, pulling out her picture from his pocket. “She’s far too plain for his taste.” And probably far too smart, too - Dr Hermione Granger was his age, and already leading a research team at the facility. 

“Dash my hopes that whoever took an interest in Ms Granger would turn out to be Malfoy, and we could shoot him in the line of duty, will you?” Harry sighed. 

“That would have made this boring job worthwhile.” Ron shook his head. “For someone with her past, she certainly leads a very boring life.” 

“I can understand that,” his friend said in a flat voice.

A glance told Ron that Harry had narrowed his eyes at him, and he resisted the urge to wince - he had put his foot in it there. “Sorry.” His friend didn’t like to be reminded, however inadvertently, of the reason he was famous, at least among certain people in their line of work. “You’re not living a boring life, though,” he pointed out.

“I wasn’t kidnapped at the age of eleven, disappearing for seven years before being found,” Harry retorted. “And however unpleasant our school was at times, we weren’t tortured and abused.”

“She doesn’t remember any of it,” Ron observed. That had been in the news back then, too, he recalled.

“She claims that she doesn’t,” Harry said. “Her answers during interrogation weren’t that convincing, though.”

His friend would have read those files, of course, Ron thought. He had stuck with the CI5 file they had received.

“Do you think she’s a plant?” The older officers had told them tales from the Cold War, and what the Soviets had been up to… And it would explain how someone could miss years of formal education during her teenage years and still become a top researcher in record time.

“No. DNA tests confirmed her identity, and her reunion with her parents went off without a hitch. That means she is Hermione Granger. Kidnapping an eleven-year-old girl, then sending her back as a spy and having her become one of the best physicists in Britain? That wouldn’t make any sense.” Harry shook his head. “But Stockholm Syndrome is a thing.”

Ron glanced at his friend again. “You think the kidnapper is back.”

Harry slowly shrugged. “They never found out who kidnapped her. So, it’s that, or someone’s really interested in her work. But experimental quantum physics isn’t exactly highly classified work. They could get her findings by buying a subscription to a journal.”

“Our orders also specify that we should investigate her,” Ron pointed out. One of the most famous kidnapping cases, still unsolved despite the victim having been found? No branch of the police service liked that sort of black mark.

“And we’ll do so. If she’s involved in anything shady, we’ll find out.” Harry’s tone told Ron that his friend didn’t think that was the case, though.

“Well, let’s get started, then,” Ron said, getting out of their car. “But let’s just hope Ginny doesn’t catch you flirting with a suspect again.”

Harry’s comment on that would have made Ron’s mum gasp.

*****

Dr Granger really was a plain woman, Ron thought half an hour later, watching her step out of the faculty building in which she worked. And that hair… Though she didn’t make any effort to dress up, either - her clothes were boring, straight out of a catalogue for business drones. Even Percy was a sharper dresser. The only item that stood out was an old, beaded bag. The same type of bag, he realised, that she had been found with, back in 1998. Peculiar.

He exchanged a glance with Harry. Granger would be in a meeting with the faculty for at least an hour. Plenty of time to bug her lab and poke around a bit. The two of them stood up from the bench on which they had been sitting and started towards the entrance.

They hadn’t taken more than a few steps, though, when Granger looked in their direction - and went deathly pale. He was about to whirl round and look for whatever had spooked her when he heard her stammer:

“Ron? Harry?”

Ron refrained from cursing. How had she made them? Why did she know their names? He was certain they had never met before - something was amiss here.

“I’m sorry? Have we met before, Ms…?” Harry - as usual, smoother than Ron - asked, his head slightly tilted to one side.

Granger shook her head. “No, sorry, I… I was mistaken.” Granger smiled, but Ron noticed how tightly she was gripping her bag - her knuckles were turning white. She nodded, then ducked her head and quickly walked away.

Ron watched her go, then looked at Harry. “She recognised us, mate.”

“Yes. There must be a leak,” his friend replied.

Ron nodded. There was no way Granger would have recognised them unless someone had shown her their pictures. And they wouldn’t have done that unless they knew about their assignment. “They moved very quickly,” he commented - they had only received their orders the day before.

“Yes,” Harry replied. “We need to find the leak yesterday.”

Ron knew what he meant. They should alert Bones at once, but that would mean they would be taken off the case. But if they managed to find out how Granger knew… “Bones will blow her lid,” he said.

Harry grinned in response.

Ron sighed and shook his head. But he agreed - he wanted to get to the bottom of this himself. He didn’t fancy getting ribbed by the other officers about being made by their target, even if it wasn’t their fault at all. Well, Creevey would probably be sympathetic - and try to get them to wear his stupid latex masks on their next investigation.

Ron looked at the faculty building Granger had entered. “Think she’ll do a runner?”

Harry frowned, then nodded. “I’ll take the front.”

Ron nodded. “I’ll cover the side entrance.” They could search her lab later.

*****

“Professor Smith just left the building,” Ron heard Harry through their radio. “Their faculty meeting must be over.”

“Only an hour?” Ron snorted. “If that’s not suspicious…”

He heard Harry chuckle at his joke. “I haven’t spotted her, though.”

“Alright.” Ron was leaning against the wall next to the side entrance - almost impossible to spot from inside the building. 

The door opened, and he tensed, but it was only a couple of students. They stared at him, startled, and Ron flashed his cigarette. Smoking was a great cover to be hanging around outside a building. Not that he smoked, of course. Mum would have his hide and Ginny wouldn’t let him hear the end of it, either. But a lighter could come in very handy. Had done so on a very memorable occasion that Bones still brought up when she was mad at them.

He flicked some ash off the tip and watched the couple leave. If Granger wasn’t climbing out of a window, she’d have to use this door or the front one.

And there she was! He spotted her brown mane at once when the door opened again. A moment before she saw him - she hadn’t walked out, but stopped, he noticed.

He nodded at her. “Ms Granger.” Harry would hear him as well, of course.

“ _Doctor_ Granger,” she corrected him, raising her chin. But he saw her glance around at the other people nearby before she left the building. Checking for witnesses and potential help? It wouldn’t be unusual, given her traumatic past.

He pushed off the wall and joined her with a few quick steps. “Going back to your lab?” he asked, to let Harry know they were moving.

“What’s it to you?” she shot back.

“Your work sounds interesting,” he said.

“Really?” She couldn’t have sounded more doubtful if she had tried. 

He knew that tone. Greengrass had sounded exactly like that when he had asked about her math class. Ron grinned widely at Granger. “Experimental quantum physics? That sounds like Star Trek!” he declared as enthusiastically as he could.

Judging by the glare she sent him, she didn’t like getting mocked. Well, he didn’t like her attitude. He was no genius, but he wasn’t stupid either. 

She sniffed and looked straight ahead, then froze for a moment when she spotted Harry coming towards them from the other side. “The laboratory is off-limits to non-faculty members,” she said. “There’s a security guard.”

They were still thirty yards away from the entrance, Ron noticed. She must feel threatened, he realised, despite her attitude. He made a decision and reached into his jacket. Then he saw her eyes widen as she tensed up, and cursed himself. “We’re the police, Dr Granger,” he quickly said before she could try to run. He slowly pulled his ID out. “Criminal Intelligence 5. We have a few questions for you.”

He wasn’t entirely surprised that this didn’t seem to reassure the woman.

Ron ignored Harry’s glare - their cover would have been blown anyway as soon as Granger yelled for help and they were mistaken for kidnappers. And Ron was certain that the woman would have done so; she had kept an eye on the nearby potential witnesses the whole time. “How about we visit your lab for a more private talk?”

She pursed her lips, and, for a moment, Ron expected her to demand a warrant and refuse to cooperate, to make a scene. But she nodded, if rather curtly. “Don’t touch anything,” she told them, “some of the instruments cost more than your salaries for the next ten years - combined.”

“We’re paid a little more than the average police officer,” Harry said.

“I assume you are,” she retorted. “But these instruments are very expensive and quite delicate.”

“Should we break something, I’ll buy you a new one,” Harry shot back with a scoff. Ron knew his friend didn’t think his money meant he was better than anyone else, but Granger’s snippy comments and attitude were a little too close to Malfoy’s snobbery, at least in Ron’s opinion.

Granger didn’t seem to be impressed, though. “I’ll expect to be reimbursed for the time lost waiting for the replacement parts to arrive as well,” the woman said with a sniff as she opened the door to her lab.

“No Tardis?” Ron joked as they entered a rather narrow hallway. She didn’t laugh, but the way she jerked… well, perhaps his first joke hadn’t been completely off the mark.

And the laboratory proper… It didn’t quite look like it had been lifted straight out of Dr Who, but it certainly looked far more interesting than he had expected. And the faint smell of ozone hinted at rather large amounts of power being used.

“My office is over there,” she said, walking at a brisk pace.

She obviously didn’t want them to look around. Which, of course, made Ron want to look around. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing at a large frame made of metal.

“A quantum mirror cage,” she replied. “Don’t touch it.”

He was about to ask what it did when he noticed her faint smirk. “So you do have a sense of humour,” he said with a grin. 

She pursed her lips again, frowning, and held the door to her office open without a further word.

Ron wanted to poke the ‘cage’, but Harry nodded and entered the office, so Ron followed him.

The office was more cluttered than he’d expected of the prim and proper Dr Granger. Almost chaotic, and he would have sworn that she was the type to organise her pencils three times a day. But her desk almost broke under stacks of paper and… “Parchment?” he asked, reaching out towards a scroll.

“Don’t touch that!” she barked. “And, yes, it’s parchment. One of the only copies of Flamel’s notes.”

“Flamel?”

“A famous alchemist,” she replied, and he thought he caught a hint of a smirk and something else before she schooled her features again. “But you aren’t here to talk about history, are you?” She leaned against her desk and crossed her arms.

“We’re here for a few reasons,” Harry replied. “Someone’s interested in you or in your work. Someone with ties to the underworld.”

Most would comment on that. Granger, though, tilted her head slightly, silently waiting for Harry to go on. Quite a cool reaction for a kidnapping victim.

Of course, Harry upped the ante. “It could be the same person who kidnapped you before.”

That made her flinch. “And you’re here to protect me?”

Harry inclined his head. 

“Well, I guess additional security won’t hurt.”

Ron really didn’t like her dismissive attitude. “We’re also wondering why you knew our names.”

“I read a news article about you two when I was looking for the best school to finish my education,” she replied. “Two boys helping to catch a wanted criminal? That kind of feat tends to be remembered.”

She met his eyes without flushing. Her reason was sound - catching Pettigrew certainly had made the news for a few weeks, and their school had milked it for all it had been worth, so it wasn’t too far-fetched that Granger would have read an article about them while looking into schools.

But Ron didn’t believe her for a second. She had been shocked when she had spotted Harry and him. She had recognised them, even though they had been kids at the time. And she had used their first names.

He glanced at Harry, whose expression told Ron he had come to the same conclusion. “I see,” Harry told her. “That explains it.”

A hint of a smile appeared on her face for a moment. “Thank you.”

“There’s still the issue that someone dangerous could be interested in you or your work,” Harry went on.

“I don’t think theoretical quantum physics attracts the kind of attention you suggest,” she replied.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Ron cut in. “Quantum computers are supposed to render all our electronics obsolete. If your work can help with their development, a number of corporations would be willing to spend a great deal to gain access to your research.”

Her eyes widened for a moment, and Ron felt irked again. Who did she think he was, an idiot like McLaggen?

But she was already cool and collected again. “In any case, that’s your problem now, isn’t it? Sorry, your assignment.”

“Our assignments don’t come with the option to refuse them,” Ron told her. He hid his grin at the flash of anger his veiled barb caused.

She raised her chin again. “Well, I’ve got work to do. Feel free to guard me.”

And with that dismissive comment, she sat down and started shuffling papers.

Ron exchanged another glance with Harry. He really didn’t like this assignment.

*****

Apparently, Granger didn’t believe in finishing her working day at a decent time. It was now ten pm, and she didn’t seem like she was going to stop any time soon. Ron was tempted to ask her if she planned to spend the night in her lab, but refrained from doing so. She probably would do it just to spite him.

After all, the woman had heated up an MRE when Ron had offered to get her a takeaway while getting some grub for Harry and himself. Granted, he had been a little sarcastic, but it had been an honest offer.

MREs… who in their right state of mind would voluntarily eat those? Just to save some time? Granger wasn’t a workaholic; she was a workaddict.

“That’s not a word,” he heard her mutter, half-hidden behind several stacks of paper.

“It’ll be one, once the editors of the Oxford English Dictionary hear about you,” Ron shot back.

“My hours aren’t exceptional at all,” she retorted. “Many of my colleagues have similar work days.”

“They probably don’t want you showing them up,” Ron said.

Instead of a biting comment, she snorted. Dear Lord, he had been joking!

“Besides, you’re one to talk,” she said. “Your friend is sleeping so he can take over for you later.”

There had been a minuscule pause before the ‘your friend’. What had Ganger wanted to say instead? ‘Harry’? Ron shrugged. “We’re just doing our job.”

“And you think I’m not?”

He almost said that he thought she had no life - but that would have been cruel, given her traumatic past. “I think you’re overdoing it a little.”

That earned him another snort, and he didn’t know why.

"What exactly are you doing?” She hadn’t used any of her oh-so-expensive and fragile instruments. She had just made notes. Lots and lots of notes. And with a pen, not even on her computer.

“I’m doing calculations.”

“For?”

“Calibrating the quantum mirror cage.”

He snorted. “Funny. What are you really doing?”

“I just told you.”

If she wanted to play games… “And what does your quantum mirror cage do? Break down the barriers between the dimensions and let the lizard people invade?”

“What?” She seemed more than a little surprised.

“You never watched ‘The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai’, did you?”

“My interests don’t extend to cheap science fiction movies,” she replied.

“You’ve never seen Dr Who?” He took care to sound suitably shocked.

“That’s a TV series.”

“And that makes all the difference!” He laughed - of course she’d watched Dr Who. What swot like her wouldn’t? “So, do you prefer the classic series or the new one?”

“I prefer to think of it as a single series that had a lengthy hiatus,” she replied.

“Ah.” He couldn’t think of a funny comment. “You’ve got taste, Dr Granger,” he said after a moment.

“Thank you,” she said, hesitating as well, or so he thought.

She wasn’t scribbling down notes any more, either, he noticed. He couldn’t resist. “Are you finally done?” he asked. “Since we are here to keep you from harm, we were about ready to drag you out of the lab before you collapsed and got crushed under an avalanche of paper…”

“It’s good to know you’re a police officer, Mr Weasley,” she replied. “Since you wouldn’t be a good comedian.”

“Ouch!” He put a hand on his chest. “Your wit cuts to the bone. The funny bone.”

“You’d have to have one for it to be cut.”

Once more, he swallowed a comeback - ‘you must have been the life of the party in your teens’ - because of her past. “So, are you done for the day?”

“Might as well go home. You’re too distracting.”

From anyone else, he’d have taken that comment as an invitation to flirt.

*****

**Greenwich, London, July 5th, 2005**

“You live alone?” Harry asked as they got out of the car near Granger’s address.

“Don’t you already know everything about me?” she replied.

“Contrary to popular belief, the police do respect your privacy,” Harry snapped.

She snorted. “Took you long enough. I felt like a prisoner for a long time after my escape - the police just didn’t want to let me go.”

“You were a special case,” Harry retorted. “And your kidnapper is still at large. Of course we’d try everything to catch them.”

She snorted.

“So… do you live alone?” Ron asked.

She looked at him. “Yes.” Her expression dared him to comment.

He didn’t.

They reached her door. It was an old, cosy-looking building. Three floors, one flat per floor. Granger turned to face them. “I’m leaving for work at half past seven. Just so you don’t have to waste your time waiting outside my flat.”

“We were planning to wait inside your flat,” Ron said.

“The kind of people whom we suspect to be ‘interested’ in your work could easily break into your flat,” Harry added.

“They might have done so already,” Ron went on, “and be waiting inside for you to return.”

“Really.” She gave them a flat stare. Then, after a moment, she sighed. “Whatever - I’m too tired to argue with the professionally paranoid. Let’s go. And don’t forget to check under the couch for assassins!”

She mumbled something like ‘stupid overprotective louts’ under her breath, or so Ron thought, as they climbed the stairs to her flat on the second floor. He shook his head behind her back - academics were the worst people to protect. They always thought they knew better than the professionals. Until they were proven wrong, of course.

Although, Ron couldn’t help thinking when he spotted the burly man, pistol in hand, moving to block their way, Granger didn’t have to be proven wrong quite so quickly. He grabbed her at once, pulling her back and behind him as he drew his own gun. 

At the same time, Harry, gun in hand already, yelled: “Police! Drop your weapon!”

The man didn’t, so Harry dropped him with a quick double-tap to the head.

Ron turned at once, checking their rear and covering Granger with his body.

Not that she appreciated it. “Take your hands off me!” she snapped behind him.

He ignored her. One man, moving so openly? That screamed ‘ambush’. But he couldn’t see anyone else.

“Let me go!” Granger yelled.

“We need to get her to safety!” Harry snapped.

Ron nodded, letting his friend pass to check the next floor. “Stay close,” he told Granger before releasing her - thankfully, she didn’t seem to be panicking.

She scoffed in return, but he was busy sending a message to headquarters to report the shooting. People would have called the police already after hearing the shots - it wasn’t the kind of street where that would be ignored - but it was best to avoid misunderstandings. Shooting a police officer in self-defence because you were mistaken for a criminal didn’t do wonders for your career prospects.

“Clear!” Harry reported from below.

“Let’s go!” Ron moved to guide Granger down the stairs, but she was already moving towards Harry.

That wasn’t how civilians reacted to a shooting, he noted. But he had no time to ponder it - they had to get out of here.

“I’m on the ground floor,” he heard Harry through the radio. A few seconds later, he and Granger joined him.

“Let’s take the back door.” If anyone was waiting outside, they would be easy targets.

For a change, Granger didn’t comment or protest as they moved through the hallway to the back of the house. The garden behind it was lined with hedges - they’d provide some concealment.

“Left,” Harry whispered. That would lead them towards their car. But they had to cross a few fences and hedges.

Ron’s phone vibrated. He checked - it was Scrimgeour, Bones’s right hand. “Help’s on the way,” he told Harry. “We can fort up in the hallway and wait.”

“No.” Harry shook his head. “If there are more of them, we’ll be at a disadvantage.”

“Crawling through hedges it is,” Ron said with fake cheer.

“And breaking and entering afterwards, to pass through my neighbours’ houses, I assume,” Granger added.

“Exactly!” Ron beamed at her. “You do this often?”

“Can the comedy act,” Harry snapped before Granger could reply. “Let’s go!”

Ron swallowed his comment about his best trousers getting ruined and motioned for her to follow Harry. He’d be bringing up the rear. “Leave the bag,” he told her. “It’ll snag on branches.”

“I’m not going to leave my bag!” she hissed.

“Suit yourself,” he shot back before he remembered that she had had the same bag when she had been found. Another one of his gaffes.

A few minutes later, they had passed through three almost identical gardens, and both Ron’s trousers, as well as Granger’s, had been completely ruined. Her hair looked even worse now, too, though she didn’t complain. And she had kept her bag from snagging on any branches. He was tempted to ask again if she did this often, but Harry motioned towards the back door.

It didn’t take him long to pick the lock, and a minute later, they were at the front door, Harry, who somehow looked the most presentable despite having led the way, peering out.

“Car’s right across the street,” he whispered.

Ron sent Scrimgeour an update. The response came quickly.

“We’re to stay put,” he told Harry. “Reinforcements are almost here.”

“Lost too much time going under the hedges,” Harry said. “Moody’d have our hide.”

“Moody?” Granger asked.

“Our old instructor,” Ron replied. Harry, of course, was glaring at him for that minor breach of security.

“Ah.”

Ron was tempted to tell her that Moody was the best damned police officer in England and that his training had saved Harry and Ron’s lives several times, but that wouldn’t have been a minor breach of security any more. He still loathed her dismissive attitude.

About a minute passed in silence until they heard the sirens, and Ron started to relax a little.

“So much for a safe, simple assignment,” he said. “Must be your fault,” he added, nodding at Harry.

Granger’s snort seemed to surprise her as much as it did Ron and Harry.

*****

By the time Scrimgeour arrived and took charge, the Metropolitan Police were already busy keeping reporters away from the crime scene. 

“Look at the vultures,” Ron heard Harry, who was watching through the small window in the door, mutter.

He snorted. “Vultures would have some decency.”

“I take it that you’ve had bad experiences with the press,” Granger commented with a slight frown.

“You might say that,” Ron replied. “There were a few journalists who took Harry’s refusal to give interviews as a personal insult.”

“Bloody muckrakers,” Harry said.

Ron expected Granger to pry - she seemed the type who couldn’t leave something alone until she knew everything about it - but, to his surprise, she merely nodded. Of course, she had had her own experiences with the press, and more recently. He frowned when a disturbing thought came to him. “Better not be seen together, or the Daily Mail will claim you’re having an affair.” Two semi-famous people with tragic pasts, put together? The tabloids wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Damn!” Harry spat. Granger didn’t say anything, but judging by her expression, she clearly agreed with the sentiment.

“Scrimgeour won’t throw you to the press,” Ron said. Partially because the man wanted all the publicity for himself so he could succeed Bones once she was promoted or retired.

"I should certainly hope not!” Granger cut in. “I would rather not suffer further disruption to my work due to the press.”

Harry snorted. “They’ll find your name soon enough. One of your neighbours will let something slip.”

“I’m aware of that,” Granger replied with pursed lips. “But that’s no reason to make matters worse.”

“You’re not seriously expecting to go back to work any time soon, are you?” Ron asked. “If we hadn’t been with you, you’d have been…” He trailed off. It wouldn’t do to trigger her. Even though he really wanted to rub in the fact that they had been correct about her being in danger.

“I’m aware of that, thank you,” she snapped. “But I won’t hide in some hole and leave my work unfinished!”

“You won’t be able to do any work if you’re dead or kidnapped,” Harry retorted. “Until this situation is resolved, you’ll be in protective custody.”

“I most certainly won’t be locked up ‘for my own good’!” She bared her teeth. “That is out of the question!”

“Do you really want to risk your life just so you can continue with your work?” Ron asked.

Granger pressed her lips together and glared at him, and he couldn’t help thinking that her reply, if voiced, would have been ‘yes’.

The woman was mental.

*****

**CI5 Headquarters, Westminster, London, July 5th, 2005**

Bones looked like she always did when working - deux-pièce, pressed sharp enough to serve as a weapon, not a hair out of place and her weird monocle seemingly glued to her face. So much for the rumour that she had been asleep when Scrimgeour called her.

“So, Dr Granger recognised you at first sight.” Bones steepled her fingers and leaned forward a little, looking Harry and Ron over. “And you didn’t then see any reason to inform headquarters at once.”

Ron didn’t flinch. But he couldn’t help growing tense in the face of Bones’s icy glare.

Harry, though, shook his head. “We didn’t want to jump to conclusions. As it turned out, she had found an article about Pettigrew’s arrest when she was investigating schools to finish her education.”

Bones’s expression didn’t change. “And do you think she was telling you the truth?”

“We found no evidence to the contrary,” Harry replied. Ron didn’t look at him, but he hoped his friend wasn’t smiling. That never worked on their boss.

“That’s a textbook evasive answer, Potter,” Bones said. “You’re not on trial,” she went on, “so don’t try and of your sophistry. Tell me what you think of her explanation.”

“It wasn’t too convincing,” Harry admitted, “but not enough to bring her in.”

“Not by a long chalk,” Ron added.

“Arresting Granger would be ill-advised,” Scrimgeour cut in.

Bones glared at him. “I’m not in the habit of allowing politics or the press to dictate how we enforce the law.”

Scrimgeour nodded in response. Of course, everyone knew that politics mattered. And that the press mattered in politics. Which was why good money was on Scrimgeour succeeding Bones sooner rather than later.

Bones scoffed. “I should take you off the case.” Which meant she wouldn’t. Ron refrained from smiling. Granger - the case - intrigued him. “But you’ve established some sort of rapport with Dr Granger,” their boss went on, “which is more than anyone else investigating her case has ever managed.”

And didn’t that paint a lovely picture of the woman? Mental, indeed. Or, Ron added to himself, she had something to hide. Probably both. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Harry nodded, and Ron felt like sighing as Bones glared at them again. His friend should know better than that.

“So, you keep protecting her and investigate her as much as you can without compromising your primary assignment. Now, put her up in the guest quarters for the night and get some sleep!”

Ron struggled not to wince. That wouldn’t put Granger in a better mood. And once she realised that they were repurposed holding cells...

Meanwhile, Bones turned to Scrimgeour. “Rufus, you’re in charge of the case.”

“Yes, Amelia.” Ron saw the man’s eyes widen just a smidgen as he nodded - he had probably expected Bones to take over. But was that a sign of trust and favour, or was she using him as a possible scapegoat in case this blew up in CI5’s face?

Probably both, Ron thought. Bones might scoff at politics, but you didn’t rise to her position without knowing how to navigate them.

*****

**CI5 Headquarters, Westminster, London, July 6th, 2005**

"Ron! I heard everything! Harry got into another shoot-out!”

Ron barely managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. Four hours of sleep weren’t enough to face Colin Creevey first thing in the morning on entering CI5 headquarters.

“So, what happened? Did he try to kidnap Dr Granger? Do you think he was working for the original kidnapper? Perhaps there’s a ring of paedophiles behind it, and they want to silence the only victim that got away before she recovers her memory!”

“That sounds like something straight out of the Daily Mail,” Ron replied with a frown. “And watch the speculation - at least while Granger’s here.”

“Oh!” Colin blinked. “She’s still asleep in the guest quarters, don’t worry.”

Ron frowned. “You didn’t violate her privacy by spying on her through the security cameras, did you?”

“Ah… I only checked if she was awake?”

Ron sighed. “And why did you do that in the first place?” Colin was a lab technician and computer wizard, not a guard or psychologist.

“Are you kidding? She’s the most famous kidnapping victim in Britain! And someone just attempted to kidnap her again! What if the trauma caused her lost memories to resurface?” Colin shook his head wildly. “We could finally solve her case!”

Ron narrowed his eyes at the other man. “Delete all the recordings you took from her quarters.”

“How did you… I mean… why?” Colin blinked at him.

“Because you didn’t get a warrant.” Ron sighed. If Granger ever found out… “So, did you identify our kidnapper?”

“Huh? Oh, yes, we did.” Colin nodded. “Harry didn’t damage the face too much and we ran his fingerprints through our database and got a hit: Vincent Crabbe. Former member of the Welsh Guards. Dishonourable discharge in 2003, after he and a friend were caught working as guards for local smugglers in Bosnia during SFOR.”

“Looks like he decided to make a career of it afterwards,” Ron commented. “What’s the name of his friend?”

“Gregory Goyle.”

Ron made a note. They would have to look up the guy, in case he was involved.

“So… where’s Harry?” Colin looked around. “You usually arrive together.”

“Wimbledon’s over, so Ginny’s got some time off,” Ron told him.

“Oh, I see.” Colin slowly nodded. “Of course…”

“Yeah,” Ron said. He didn’t want to see Colin mope on a good day, and this wasn’t a good day. “Have you finished your report already?”

“I’m waiting for the autopsy,” Colin said, perking up. 

“Send me what you have.” Ron doubted that the autopsy would add anything to the case - they already knew how the man had died, after all.

“Alright, I’ll… Oh!” Colin pulled out a vibrating cell phone. “Dr Granger’s screaming.”

*****

_They were coming for her. From her cell, she could hear footsteps on the stone stairs. She tried to steel herself. She could take it. They wouldn’t break her. They wouldn’t. She could take it. She wouldn’t break. Not now. She would be saved. Someone would be coming for her._

_Then she heard the giggling and trembled. Her. The madwoman. No. No. No. She was panting. Before she realised what she was doing, she found her back pressed against the cold stone wall, as far from the door as she could manage._

_The sound of heels hitting the stone floor grew louder. And the way they… was the woman skipping?_

_She swallowed, shaking now despite her efforts to control herself. She could take this. She had to. She couldn’t break. She wouldn’t break. She wouldn’t break. She would go insane before they broke her._

_Why was it taking so long? She knew how long it took them to reach the door of her cell from the stairs. Was the woman dragging it out deliberately? Increasing the psychological torment? That would fit, of course._

_She felt something run down her cheeks. Was she crying? She shook her head, biting her lower lip and wiped the tears off her face. She had to be brave. She wouldn’t break. Not now. Not ever._

_But then the door to her cell was pulled open, and she whimpered at the sight of the cackling madwoman smiling down at her._

_“Hello, my little mudblood!”_

*****


	2. The Parents

**CI5 Headquarters, Westminster, London, July 6th, 2005**

By the time Ron reached the ‘guest quarters’, Granger wasn’t screaming any more. She was sitting on the bed, clad in what looked like an oversized shirt, her hair a mess that would have sent Parvati or Lavender running for the hills, and she was glaring at Dawlish, who must have been the officer on duty.

“I am perfectly fine,” she spat. “I merely had a nightmare - quite a common occurrence after a traumatic experience, such as an assault on my person. Something, I think, with which you would be familiar if you had ever worked in the field.”

Ron saw Dawlish tense at that, and he had to suppress a chuckle. Dawlish was a veteran officer - but he had been working at a desk job since before Harry and Ron had started their careers. And you just had to rib the desk jockeys. But for Granger to guess that...

“Yes, you had a nightmare, Miss,” Dawlish started to reply.

“Dr Granger,” she hissed.

“Dr Granger,” the man pressed out through clenched teeth. “As you said yourself, you’ve had a traumatic experience. And in light of your past, that raises concerns about your mental health.”

“My reaction is perfectly normal.” She scoffed. “If you were planning to use this as a pretext to lock me up, I’ll have you know that my parents have been informed about the attack and will ensure my release.”

"Such decisions will be made by the proper authorities, but I would remind you that this is a criminal case," Dawlish retorted.

“Your loyalty to your superiors is commendable. Few men in your position are willing to fall upon their swords like that.” 

“What?”

Granger’s sneer left no doubt of her opinion of Dawlish. “Once the press gets wind of how you’re trying to imprison me without cause because you are too lazy or too inept to do your job and find whoever attacked me, who do you think will be the chosen scapegoat?” She turned to Ron. “Oh. Good morning, Officer Weasley. Here to check on your prisoner?”

Ron was certain that she had noticed him before that, but he nodded and ignored her barb. He had expected that, after last night. “Good morning, Dr Granger.”

“Hello, Dr Granger!” Colin piped up behind Ron. “Did you remember anything from your kidnapping?”

“Colin!” Ron hissed, glaring at him, and even Dawlish winced.

“What?” Colin blinked, then paled.

“No, I do not remember anything about my kidnapping,” Granger spat as she stood up. She looked absolutely furious. Worse than Mum when she had caught the twins making explosives in the shed. Nice legs, though, Ron couldn’t help noticing. “Is this why you want to lock me up and keep me from my work? Are you planning to _torture_ me into remembering my ordeal?”

“What?” Colin repeated himself, cringing. “No, no! I was just… I mean…”

“Get out, Creevey!” Dawlish snapped. “Weasley, why did you bring him along? For that matter, what are you doing here?”

“I came to visit Dr Granger,” Ron replied as Colin fled. “I’m working on her case, after all, and I’m responsible for her safety.”

To his mild surprise, she didn’t make a comment about how she could take care of herself. Perhaps the attack had made her see reason.

“Which means your presence is superfluous,” she told Dawlish. “That means you should vacate the premises, in case you’re wondering,” she added.

Dawlish was so tense and angry, Ron could see his jaw muscles twitch as he reined in his temper, but the other man left without another word. Ron sighed and shook his head. “You have such a way with people.”

She scoffed again. “Says the man who came with Mr… Creevey?”

“I didn’t bring him; he followed me,” Ron replied. It hadn’t been his fault - Colin should have known better. They weren’t in school any more.

“Really.” Her doubt was obvious.

Ron shrugged. “Anyway, I came to tell you that we’d like to ask you a few questions later. After you’ve had breakfast, of course.”

“Do I get to dress first? And in private? Or is that too dangerous?” 

“You can even take a shower in the female locker rooms,” he told her.

“Alone? Without cameras?”

“Of course.” What kind of people did she think they were? Well, after Colin and Dawlish, she probably had a poor impression of the department.

And, Ron thought, remembering a few of his co-workers, she might not be entirely wrong.

*****

“Have you seen this man before?” Harry asked, showing a picture of Crabbe to Granger. 

Ron saw her tense up, and her eyes widened for a moment, before she schooled her features and shook her head. “No, I’m certain that I haven’t seen that man before.”

She was lying. Ron was sure. She knew Crabbe. Had he been involved in her kidnapping? But he would have been her age - an eleven-year-old, taking part in a kidnapping? Not impossible, of course. But for seven years? No.

And why would she be lying? Crabbe had been there to kidnap or kill her. Was she protecting whoever was behind this? But why?

“Are you sure?” Ron asked.

“Yes, I am. As I just told you,” she said.

She was a very smart woman. And she didn’t scare easily. So… why wasn’t she cooperating? Why was she lying?

“Who was it?” She tilted her head. “Or is that classified?”

Ron was tempted to tell her ‘yes’, but Harry was quicker. “Vincent Crabbe. Career criminal.”

“Ah.”

Still no surprise. She had to know that Crabbe had just been a minion and that someone else was pulling the strings - someone far more dangerous than Crabbe had been. And yet she seemed unconcerned.

Ron shook his head. The woman’s behaviour made no sense. There were too many mysteries surrounding her.

But he would get to the bottom of them.

“Has anyone approached you about your work?” Ron asked. “Anyone you wouldn’t have expected to be interested in quantum physics, I mean.”

Granger’s frowning expression as she thought about that was almost cute. After about half a minute, she shook her head. “No, no one comes to mind. I’ve only spoken with fellow physicists and, of course, the faculty about my research.” She met his eyes. “And I can safely say that my work wouldn’t help anyone to build a quantum computer.”

“Ah, but would others know that?” Ron asked.

“Wouldn’t anyone willing to resort to kidnapping verify that it was worth the risk beforehand?” she retorted.

Was she trying to avoid answering the question? Perhaps. 

“You’d be surprised just how careless some criminals are,” Harry said.

“One wouldn’t expect to find someone with the means to profit from the development of quantum computers among that number,” she replied. “Not to mention that it would be foolish to underestimate whoever sent Mr Crabbe after me.”

Harry leaned forward. “Why do you assume that someone sent him?”

Granger didn’t quite scoff, but her expression came close. “You just told me that he was a career criminal. Since he was about as subtle as a charging bull, I don’t think he decided on his own to attack me.”

That made sense, but not enough. Granger sounded too sure of her assessment. Another clue that she had recognised Crabbe. Did she know who was behind him as well? But why wouldn’t she tell them? “Aren’t you underestimating Crabbe by assuming he was too stupid to have acted on his own?”

This time she did scoff. “He’s dead. If he had acted on his own, then there’d be no further danger. It’s only sensible to assume that he was merely a pawn.”

“And you have no idea who could have hired him? None at all?” Harry didn’t quite manage to hide his doubts.

She glared at Ron’s friend. “No, I do not,” she told him. “Do you have any other questions for me?”

Ron had a few questions, but this wasn’t the time to ask them. They needed more information first. He glanced at Harry and shook his head.

“No,” Harry said.

“Am I free to go now?”

“As long as we’re with you,” Ron told her with a smile. “For your protection.”

He saw her press her lips together. She didn’t like that. Not at all. But, as her reluctant nod showed, she knew that she needed them. “Good. I need to return to my work.”

Ron almost shook his head. She had been attacked last night, and she wanted to go straight back to work? Mental.

*****

**Greenwich, London, July 6th, 2005**

“I would have expected you to go straight to your lab,” Ron said as they stopped in front of Granger’s home.

She glared at him. “Without changing my clothes?”

Ron took refuge in a joke to avoid answering that question honestly. “Oh, I assumed that you had half your wardrobe stashed in your office. Together with a camping shower hidden in your locker, a sleeping bag in your desk and enough MREs to last you a year.”

She blinked, once, before glaring at him and all but jumping out of the car before he could tell her to wait.

“I would be surprised if she didn’t have a change of clothes at the lab,” Harry whispered as they hastily got out of the car - they had to check for threats, after all.

Ron nodded. She was here for something else. Perhaps to check if something had been stolen from her apartment? There hadn’t been any trace of anyone having broken into it, but a skilled thief wouldn’t leave any signs of their presence.

This might be more interesting than Ron had expected. He wondered what kind of thing Granger feared might have been stolen. And what her apartment looked like.

*****

It looked messier than he had expected, he realised after stepping into her living room. Cheap shelves lined the walls, stuffed with books. Physics, he noticed, cocking his head to read their spines, but also esoteric books - new age and witchcraft. That didn’t seem to fit Granger at all.

Stacks of paper covered several dressers and a table - though she had left one spot on the table free, probably so she could eat dinner there. The few pictures on the walls - in places where there was not enough space for another shelf - showed her parents and her graduations.

The apartment actually looked like her office. Perhaps he should have expected that. The kitchen was old and cramped, though there was a microwave oven on the small table there, and an electric tea kettle.

All in all, the flat didn’t look like it belonged to a person who had a life outside her work. 

“I don’t see anyone outside,” Harry told him from near one of the windows.

Ron nodded at him and went to the bedroom, where Granger was, from the sounds he could hear, rummaging around in her armoire. Glancing through the gap left by the open door, he could see an unmade bed, small and cheap-looking, and Granger’s backside - she was kneeling in front of a trunk.

Frowning, he stepped inside. All the rest of the furniture looked cheap and new. Soulless IKEA crap. The trunk, though, looked old and expensive - the kind of trunk Malfoy had owned. Traditional, but not very practical. The idiot had struggled with his trunk every time he’d had to move it himself and couldn’t order the servants to do it.

Ron couldn’t really imagine Granger carrying that thing around.

“Do you always sneak into a woman’s bedroom without her leave?” Granger wasn’t even looking over her shoulder at him as she spoke, he noticed.

Snorting, he sat down on her bed, pushing aside some of the magazines and notebooks spread out on the sheets. “If I’m guarding her? Yes, actually,” he told her with a grin.

She scoffed without turning to look at him. “Do you expect to find an assassin hiding under my bed?” 

“No. I expect the space underneath your bed to be filled with books and stacks of paper,” he said.

That made her laugh, to his surprise, but it didn’t last. “I suppose I could, now,” she murmured, and he wasn’t certain that he had been meant to hear her.

He frowned. What had he done now? He sniffed the air. The expected smell of old books, fresh clothes from the armoire but also… a cat. And he hadn’t seen a feeding bowl in the kitchen. But there had been a spotted cat in the picture of her with her parents. She must have lost her cat recently. And wasn’t planning to get another.

He leaned over to straighten a stack of magazines about to collapse and blinked. He knew that issue. Mum had bought several of them after Pettigrew’s arrest. She had been so proud of him. And of Harry, of course. Angry, too, at the risks they had taken. But mostly proud. But that had been over ten years ago - Granger had still been a captive when it had come out. Why would she have that issue?

She had mentioned having read the article, but how had she gotten the magazine? And why?

Granger stood and turned around. “I’ve got my clothes sorted out now…” She trailed off as she noticed what he was holding.

He looked at her, then placed the magazine down on top of the stack. She didn’t flinch or look away. “Ah, that has the article I mentioned.”

“Yes.” 

He waited, but she merely nodded. “I’m going to change now.”

He watched her enter the bathroom carrying a stack of clothes and her ratty bag and waited until the door closed behind her before he picked up the magazine again, quickly flipping to the familiar pages.

He wasn’t a forensic scientist, but the magazine looked like it had been opened very often on the pages showing him, Harry and Sirius posing together.

What the hell did that mean? Was she a stalker? Or a fan? She hadn’t acted like either, though - he was quite familiar with the type thanks to Colin going to the same school as Harry and Ron.

He glanced at the armoire. No. She would have cleaned up anything suspicious in there. But… the trunk. It didn’t fit the rest of the flat. And that was a very good lock on it, he realised after a closer look. Better than the one on Malfoy’s trunk, in fact, and even at his best, it had taken Ron at least five minutes to pick that one.

Perhaps another time.

*****

**South Kensington campus, Imperial College London, London, July 6th, 2005**

Once more, Ron was watching Granger go through notebooks and notepads like an alcoholic went through a case of beer. The woman had dived straight back into her work as soon as they had arrived at her lab, and it didn’t look like she’d be stopping any time soon. As if she hadn’t been in a firefight not even twelve hours ago...

Mental.

He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, one hand close to his shoulder holster. Ron had a feeling that Crabbe wouldn’t remain the last criminal they’d have to deal with, and it didn’t pay to slack off.

“Someone’s coming,” he heard Harry on the radio. “Looks like a faculty member.”

“Are you expecting visitors?” Ron asked Granger.

“What?” She looked up from her work with a by now familiar scowl.

“Someone’s coming,” Ron explained. “Might be faculty.”

She blinked, then pressed her lips together as if she had bitten into something rotten. “Blake.”

“Blake?”

“The Principal,” she said as if that explained everything.

“He claims he’s the Principal of this faculty,” Harry reported as if on cue.

Granger was already up and moving towards the door, and Ron had to hurry a little to cut her off. It could be a trap, after all.

Harry gave the all-clear, but Ron still put himself in front of Granger before he opened the door.

“Hermione! I heard you were here, but I couldn’t believe it!” the man blurted out.

“Good morning, Miles,” Granger replied in a much more composed manner, nodding curtly at him. “Why wouldn’t I be in my lab?”

“But… but you were attacked last night! There are police here!”

She scoffed. “The assailant was killed by the police. And as you can see, I’m well-protected.”

“It’s not another attack we’re worried about,” Blake said, shaking his head. “This must have been such a shock to you…”

“I’m fine,” she spat.

“But surely, some time off would do you good.”

“It wouldn’t do my work any good, and that would actually stress me much more than an attack that has already been handled.”

“But…”

“I’m fine. All I need is to continue my work,” Granger cut him off. “And even if I were traumatised, the familiar environment and routine is what would help me the most.”

Blake sighed, then looked at Ron and Harry, shaking his head. But he didn’t address them before he left.

Granger sighed. “I’m surrounded by people who think they know better than I what’s best for me.”

“And they are all wrong,” Ron said in his best sarcastic tone.

She looked like she would bare her teeth at him at any moment as she glared at him. “Yes, they are,” she spat. “I’m fine.”

Neither of them said anything else until lunch, when it was Ron’s turn to get some grub for Harry and himself.

*****

Carrying two portions of fish and chips - Harry had insisted - Ron was approaching the entrance to Granger’s lab when he spotted a middle-aged couple walking towards the same destination. The woman’s hair… Yes. As soon as he passed them, he recognised Granger’s parents from the pictures in her flat.

“Mr and Mrs Granger, I presume,” he said.

They looked startled - and even more so when they saw him. “I’m afraid you have us at a disadvantage,” Mrs Granger replied.

“Ron Weasley, CI5.”

“Ah. The bodyguard.” Mr Granger nodded. 

Ron couldn’t put his finger on it, but Mr Granger’s response sounded somewhat off. He nodded in confirmation anyway. “One of them.”

They didn’t seem surprised about that - but they remained tense. It was understandable, of course, after their only daughter had just been attacked. Yet… Ron would have expected them to be upset.

He used his radio to inform Harry. If her parents ended up staring down the barrel of a gun, Granger would probably be even more insufferable. “Bringing two guests. The Grangers.”

Harry, of course, was ready to step in anyway as Ron opened the door. Just in case.

“Hermione!”

“Dear!”

“Mum, Dad.” Granger seemed to freeze up for a moment before she hugged her parents. “You didn’t have to come.”

“After hearing someone tried to attack you? Of course we had to!” Mr Granger, at least, was sensible.

“I’m fine,” Granger replied as she released her parents and took a step back to lean against her desk. “They shot the man before he could do anything.”

Her parents exchanged a glance. “Dear,” her mother started, “was he…”

“He had a gun,” Granger told them.

Against all reason, her statement seemed to make her parents relax. Which made no sense at all. Normal people didn’t react like that when they heard about someone attacking their daughter with a firearm.

This was another clue to whatever Granger was hiding.

“Dr Granger,” Harry spoke up, looking at Granger, “if someone is after you for your research, they might attempt to use your parents as leverage.”

As Ron had expected, that set Granger off. “You would dare to use my parents…”

“Dear, we’ve already been contacted by the police about this,” Mrs Granger interrupted her. “They advised us to accept police protection.”

“Who called you?” Ron asked, frowning. They hadn’t been informed about that. Cock-ups happened, of course, and some of their co-workers really didn’t like Harry and him for being the best team in the CI5, but there was, of course, another, more sinister, possibility.

“A Mr Scrimgeour,” Mrs Granger replied. “Your boss, I believe.”

Was Scrimgeour playing games? 

“We’ll check with him,” Harry said.

“Do you expect someone to be impersonating your superior?” Granger asked.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t think so, but since we don’t know who is after you, nor what resources they have at their disposal, we have to maintain constant vigilance,” he quoted Moody.

She opened her mouth but closed it again without saying anything.

“Dear, you will be able to focus on your work much better if you don’t have to worry about us,” Mr Granger added.

And Granger flinched as if she had been struck. “It’s not like that,” she told them, but it sounded weak.

“Hermione, we know how important your work is,” Mrs Granger said.

“But don’t let them lock you up! You have your practice, and your patients depend on you!” Granger was shaking her head so much, her thick hair obscured her face.

“We could organise substitutes,” Mr Granger replied.

“You don’t have to! Don’t let them ruin your practice just to make it a little easier for themselves!”

“Taking people into protective custody isn’t actually much easier for us than assigning them a protective detail,” Harry said. 

He wasn’t telling the entire truth, of course - with two people like the Grangers, taking them into protective custody would be easier than protecting them while they stayed at their own home and kept working. That took more officers to cover them. And Scrimgeour would like to have the Grangers safely locked away. Less potential trouble with the press that way.

Granger snorted. “You were quite quick to take me in.”

“Temporarily, while we sorted things out,” Ron said. 

She huffed. 

“Mr Scrimgeour mentioned that there were options to discuss,” Mrs Granger explained.

“Take the option that’s most convenient for you!”

Ron looked at Harry and mimed making a call. His friend nodded and stepped out. Granger was looking at them, so Ron told her: “He’s checking with Scrimgeour.”

“Ah.” Granger didn’t look very mollified. What was with the chip on her shoulder? She’d called them ‘professional paranoids’, but she acted as if everyone was out to get her - while ignoring the actual danger, Ron realised.

“Do you have any suspects yet?” Mr Granger asked into the sudden silence.

“We’re still at the start of our investigation,” Ron replied, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

The Grangers looked from him to their daughter, who was, Ron noticed, almost mirroring him. He quickly changed his posture while Mrs Granger seemed to be amused for some reason.

Granger, of course, wasn’t amused in the slightest, but she didn’t glare at her mother - she glared at him before clearing her throat and addressing her parents: “Well, have you had lunch already?”

“We planned to take you out for lunch,” Mrs Granger replied.

“Or at least order delivery from a decent restaurant,” Mr Granger added. “Instead of instant meals.”

“Or military surplus rations,” Ron cut in.

“What?” Both Grangers stared at him, then turned to stare at their daughter. “You were actually eating those?” Mrs Granger looked aghast.

“Of course!” Granger said, raising her chin. “It wouldn’t do to find out that they were unpalatable just as I needed them in an emergency, would it?”

“Like getting stranded on a deserted island?” Ron asked before he could help himself. “Or getting lost in the Highlands for days without your phone, radio or any other means of communication?”

All three looked at him with a frown for a moment before Granger huffed. “That’s actually far less unlikely than you make it sound,” she claimed.

“I don’t think you’re the type to get lost in the Highlands, much less to go on a hike without proper equipment,” Ron retorted. She was the type to prepare for everything. The paranoid type. Mental.

“Exactly. Which includes MREs.” She nodded at her own words.

“But we’re not in the Highlands, dear,” her mother said. “So let’s eat something a little more refined, shall we?”

“Pizza or curry?” Mr Granger asked, pulling out his phone.

Granger was glaring at Ron as if it was his fault that she would have to eat a decent meal.

*****

Half an hour later, Ron watched as the Grangers finished their meal. Granger had opted for curry because it would be delivered more quickly. At least that was what she’d claimed. Based on his own experiences, Ron had his doubts. But the takeaway had been delivered promptly and smelled good enough that Ron wouldn’t have minded a taste even though he’d finished his own lunch already.

Not that he’d asked, of course. Even though watching her reaction would have been funny. 

“Well, we should go,” Mr Granger said, putting down his fork. “You’re itching to resume your work as soon as we’re out of your hair, aren’t you?”

“No, no,” Granger lied, but her expression betrayed her.

Mrs Granger shared a look and a rather wry smile with her husband before shaking her head. “We understand, dear. We do.”

“Thank you.” Granger looked like she wanted to say something more, but then she pressed her lips together.

“Are you going to meet Scrimgeour now?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Mr Granger confirmed. “We have an appointment at two o’clock.”

“It might be best if one of us goes with you,” Harry said. “If anyone is observing us, they’ll have noticed you.”

“Ah.” Mr Granger nodded. “If you think we’re in danger…”

“I’ll go with you,” Ron cut in. He could also check for news with headquarters that way. And it beat going stir-crazy in Granger’s lab.

So five minutes later, he was seated in the Granger’s BMW, stuck in London’s traffic. He’d never get caught in that situation if he had to guard someone against an assassination, but a kidnapping? Any attempt to kidnap them would run into the same traffic jam. And with all the witnesses around, few would dare to try anything anyway.

“Please excuse Hermione’s manners,” Mr Granger said as they waited at a particularly slow crossing. “She has some issues with… authority.”

Calling her mental to her parents’ faces wouldn’t go over well so Ron nodded. “Understandable.”

“She’s not unstable,” Mrs Granger added. “She just doesn’t trust easily and tries to drive people away before she can grow close to them.”

“Ah.” That made some sense. Her parents would know her best. They might even know what exactly had happened to her during her kidnapping. But, as curious as Ron was, he wouldn’t ask them. “Well, seeing her eat that MRE did nearly drive us from the premises,” he joked.

Mr and Mrs Granger chuckled, though there was a rueful tone as Mrs Granger replied: “That was probably her intention. At least I hope so.”

“I can see that,” Ron agreed. At least now he could.

“She doesn't like it, but she needs protection,” Mrs Granger went on. “We can’t lose her. Not after...” She trailed off and Ron, sitting behind Mr Granger, saw that she was clenching her hands so tightly, her knuckles were turning white. 

Of course. They had thought their daughter lost - dead - for seven years before she had reappeared. Tortured, malnourished, but alive. “We’ll protect her,” he said.

“Thank you.” Mrs Granger took a deep breath and wiped her eyes.

After about a minute of silence, Mr Granger suddenly asked: “Whoever is guarding us won’t be hunting the kidnappers, will they?”

Ron understood at once what the man was thinking. “It’s not that simple, but…” He clenched his teeth. “We have other cases and assignments as well.”

“But the fewer people needed to guard us, the more are free to investigate Hermione’s case.”

Ron shrugged. “That’s true. More or less.” Politics played a role, but the Granger case was high-profile. Scrimgeour would want it solved under his command.

“Thank you.”

*****

**CI5 Headquarters, Westminster, London, July 6th, 2005**

The telly was running in the break room when Ron passed, showing a familiar sight: Granger’s home. It had been running since morning, of course - the attack had happened too late for the newspapers, but that hadn’t stopped the TV news. The BBC was covering it thoroughly, though at least they hadn’t done a special news broadcast.

 _“...Dr Granger almost fell victim to another kidnapping attempt yesterday night,”_ a very serious announcer said. _“Only the timely intervention of two police officers saved her. Since the criminal who kidnapped her in 1991 was never caught, speculation as to whether or not they might be behind this attempt as well is running rampant. The police have declined to comment on the case, but retired Chief Superintendent Cornelius Fudge, who worked on the case in the past, was willing to share his insights with us and…”_

“Turn the telly off before I shoot it!” someone growled.

The clerk watching it jumped to obey as Ron turned. “Moody!”

“Weasley.” The old officer nodded at him. “Heard you nailed another crook.”

“Harry shot him,” Ron corrected his old instructor. “Are you working on the case as well?”

“Aye,” Moody replied. “Rufus called everyone in. Well, everyone he trusts not to steal his thunder.” He nodded at the now dark screen. “Fudge. Bloody pillock. That he had to retire after his affair with his secretary was leaked to the press was the best thing to happen to the Met.”

That had been before Harry and Ron had joined the force, but Ron had heard about that particular scandal from Dad and Percy and everything about Fudge’s incompetence from Moody, so he nodded in agreement.

“Bones got you two guarding the girl, right?”

“We’re supposed to investigate as well, as long as we can do it without ‘compromising our primary assignment’,” Ron quoted Bones.

Moody chuckled. “You’ve been making too many waves. Too many arrests compared to the rest.”

“I’d have expected Scrimgeour to want the case solved no matter what, as long as it happened on his watch,” Ron said.

“He’d like that. But he owes a few of the older crowd some favours, and if he doesn’t let them get their shot, they’ll stab him in the back when he needs them the most.”

“Ah.” Bloody politics.

“You’ll get used to it in CI5. I told you that already, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Even Cowley had to deal with it, and the man was in a class of his own. Bones never managed to match his success. Rufus… well, he’s just crooked enough to have a chance.”

That wasn’t exactly what Ron wanted to hear about his superior.

Moody, though, laughed. “Oh, you should have met Bodie and Doyle.”

Ron made a non-committal sound. Everyone had heard of those two. If even half the stories the older officers told about them were true, they’d put Moody to shame. Of course, if just a quarter of the stories about them were true, Bones would have arrested them herself. Or shot them. He shrugged. “Well, I have to get back to Harry. Can’t leave him alone with Granger for too long.”

“Oh? Would your sister get jealous?”

Ron chuckled. Ginny was better than that. “No, but Granger’s got a sharper tongue than Bones, and a worse temper.”

Moody laughed out loud at that, and Ron waved as he left the break room.

*****

**South Kensington campus, Imperial College London, London, July 6th, 2005**

Harry didn’t look annoyed, Ron noticed when he returned to Granger’s lab. She probably had behaved herself after her parents’ visit. He chuckled at the stray thought.

“What did headquarters say?” Harry asked.

“Nothing new. They haven’t been able to find Goyle so far,” Ron told him. After a moment, he added: “The Grangers opted for protective custody after their meeting with Scrimgeour.”

Harry opened his mouth, surprised, but Granger’s loud “What?” cut him off before he could say anything.

The woman was out of her chair and stalking towards Ron. “Protective custody? I told them not to do that! What did you do?” she snarled into his face.

Blame Scrimgeour? Deflect? This wasn’t his fault. Her parents had made their choice before they had even entered headquarters. Well, _his_ parents hadn’t raised a coward. “They asked me which option would result in more officers working on your case.”

He looked at her, meeting her eyes, as she glared at him with clenched teeth - he saw her jaw muscles twitch - as she worked through the ramifications of what he had said. And he felt a little bit guilty when she looked away, tears in her eyes, and muttered: “Bloody hell, of course they’d do that! I should have expected it.”

“They love you. Of course they’d want to do what’s best for their daughter,” Ron said.

Once more, she flinched as if she had been struck.

*****

_She wasn’t insane. She was safe. She wasn’t insane. She was safe. Lost, but safe. If she told herself that often enough, she might even believe it. It could be a ruse, of course. In theory. Magic could do so much to someone’s mind. With the right spell, you could make someone believe anything - erase their memories and replace them with false ones._

_She should know; she had done it herself to others._

_But doing so made no sense. If this was just a delusion planted in her mind, what was its purpose? No one was asking her to spill her friends’ secrets. Or posing as her friend. And if this was merely the result of a spell, then where would their enemies have found someone with such detailed knowledge of muggle procedures and hospitals? The room looked exactly like a room in a modern muggle hospital should look. The nurses and doctors behaved like they should. The police officers as well. Perhaps they had taken the imagery from her mind?_

_But then, who would have come up with the idea that she had been kidnapped seven years ago, disappeared without a trace, until she had been found stumbling around in a London without Diagon Alley? What would have been the point?_

_To make her lose her sanity? There were other, quicker and more painful ways for that, which their enemies preferred._

_She shivered at the memory of the pain and torture, of the mad cackling that punctuated the agony, hugging herself._

_No, this was real. It had to be real. She was safe. Lost, but safe. She wasn’t insane. Nor was she traumatised, as the people treating her assumed. Or perhaps she was - she had certainly gone through enough, even though she hadn’t been kidnapped and kept captive for seven years, as the police assumed._

_She closed her eyes, brushing the few tears on her cheeks away, as she leaned back in the bed. She was safe. She wasn’t insane._

_And she was utterly lost._

_There were voices outside her door. She reached for a holster she didn’t have any more, then balled her hand into a fist and listened. That was one of the police officers standing guard, and… not the nurses or doctors. Someone else._

_She gasped as the door opened and she stared at her parents. No, not her parents. The other’s parents._

_“Hermione!”_

_The woman sounded like her mother. So much, she replied almost against her will: “Mum?”_

_They were hugging her. She was hugging them. And crying. Everyone was crying. They looked and felt like her parents._

_“They told us they found someone who…” The woman trailed off, sobbing._

_“They ran a DNA test before informing us! They ‘didn’t want to get our hopes up’!” the man spat. “They wanted to keep us from seeing you!” He was also crying._

_She sniffled as the door was closed from the outside. They weren’t her parents, no matter how much she wished they were. And they thought she was their Hermione._

_She could play along. Their Hermione was probably dead. They wouldn’t know. They wouldn’t lose her a second time._

_No. She wasn’t their Hermione. She wouldn’t stay. She’d return. Return home._

_She couldn’t do that to them. She had to do this now._

_She took a deep breath and lowered her voice._

_“I’m not your daughter.”_

*****


	3. The Killing

**Greenwich, London, July 6th, 2005**

Standing in her kitchen as he searched for some grub, Ron wondered if Granger had ever used her stove for actual cooking. Not aloud, of course - Granger might have buried herself in her work for the afternoon after the revelation about her parents, but he had no doubt that now, without the handy distraction of her research, it wouldn’t take much to set her off again.

“Your parents are already in protective custody.”

Like Harry’s announcement in the living room.

Granger didn’t blow her top, though. Well, if she really couldn’t control her temper, she wouldn’t have survived the academic infighting. The stories Percy had told…

“Just keep them safe if you must lock them up.”

“We’ll do our best,” Harry told her.

“You better,” she snapped.

Now that was more like it! Ron grinned as he entered the living room. “Or else?”

“What?” She frowned at him.

“It felt like you’d have to add a threat,” he explained. “You know, like ‘or I’ll feed you into my quantum reactor’.”

“It’s a quantum mirror cage,” she corrected him.

“That doesn’t sound as dangerous as a reactor,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I’ll have to fail you on your threat test.”

She snorted then blinked, and he could see her close up. “Leaving such silliness aside, there’s the matter of dinner.”

“As long as it’s not heated MREs, I’m fine with anything,” Harry said, sitting down on one of the few chairs that wasn’t occupied by a stack of paper.

Granger pursed her lips at the implicit assumption that she would be cooking for them, and Ron had to hide his grin - his friend could be quite aggravating when he wanted to be. Sometimes even when he didn’t want to be, of course. “I guess we’ll be getting takeaway again?” Ron said. She must live off takeaway and rations. And tea.

“As long as the police pick up the tab,” Granger said. “I’m not supposed to feed you, am I?” she added rather archly.

“Well, you’re supposed to be a good host to your guests, aren’t you?” Ron tilted his head with a grin. “At least that’s what Mum always told me.”

“I see.” And her face was expressionless again. The woman really was mental. “Chicken curry.”

“I suppose that’s shorthand for: ‘Please go buy some takeaway and get me a chicken curry’?” Ron said with a grin.

She glared at him, which was at least a reaction he could understand.

“Ron…” Harry shook his head as Ron glanced at him.

“And that’s shorthand for ‘Ron, go and buy us dinner!’” Ron chuckled. “Curry for everyone?”

“Yes.”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

*****

“That’s not from the restaurant I told you to visit.” Granger greeted him with a frown upon his return.

“No, it’s from a different one.” Ron grinned. “It would have been too dangerous to go to your favourite restaurant. Someone might have tampered with the food there.” And he hadn’t felt like letting her dictate what they should eat.

“That’s exactly why the restaurant I named wasn’t my favourite, but my third-favourite takeaway,” she retorted with a scowl. “I took the possible danger into account.”

She had done that? Ron couldn’t really believe it. That was almost paranoid. No, scratch the ‘almost’ - Moody would consider it appropriate. He shrugged and put the food on the table. “Well, then I added another layer of security. Bon appetit!”

She scoffed but grabbed the container with her meal anyway. Point Weasley.

He grabbed his own and started eating. The curry was good. Not the best he had eaten - Mum made that, of course - nor the best he’d had in London, but good enough. Granger wasn’t complaining, so she probably shared his view. But then, anyone who voluntarily ate MREs had no right to complain about food.

Ron was about to comment on that when he heard a car engine stop in front of the house. He was at the window a moment later, peering through the gap between the frame and the curtains. He knew the black Aston Martin down there. “Scrimgeour,” he said.

“Scrimgeour? Your superior?” Granger spoke up, putting her own meal down. “He’s coming?”

“He’s just arrived,” Ron said. He saw him get out of the car.

And he saw him drop to the ground, half his head gone, before Ron heard the shot.

“Sniper!” he yelled, tackling Granger to push her down and further away from the window. He felt her squirming under him, trying to push him off - she almost kneed him in the groin. “Stay put!” he snapped. “They shot Scrimgeour!”

A moment later, the lights in the room went off. Harry’s work - it would make it harder for the sniper to aim at them. Unless they had thermographic scopes. Or night vision ones.

“I’m calling it in!” Harry snapped, cell phone in hand. “Did you see where the shot came from?”

“From the southern part of the street. Had to be across the street to get him there,” Ron replied. There were only about five houses from which they could have caught Scrimgeour and also have been too far away to be spotted by Harry and Ron upon arrival.

“Get off!” Granger hissed.

He rolled off her. 

“My bag!” The daft woman went in search of her bag! At least she was crawling on all fours and not exposing herself!

“Leave it!”

“It’s my emergency bag! I need it.”

“Let her,” Harry cut in. “Can’t spot the sniper. But they’ll be waiting for us to get out.”

“Stay put?” Ron asked.

“Best chance to get them,” Harry said. “We should have requested assault rifles.”

Moody wouldn’t be pleased by that oversight, Ron knew. And he knew something else. Whoever was behind this wasn’t an ordinary criminal. Ordinary criminals didn’t assassinate police officers, much less a high-ranking one like Scrimgeour. Certainly not by sniping him. 

Ron followed Granger on all fours into her bedroom, where she had switched off the lights as well. Good thinking under pressure. “Stay under the bed!” he told her. “Safest place in case they use grenades.”

“Grenades?” She gasped.

“Always assume the worst,” he quoted Moody.

He didn’t catch her muttered response, but in the dim light of the streetlamps, reflected by the room’s ceiling, he saw her crawl under the bed, clutching her stupid bag - the thing wasn’t large enough to hold much more than one or two of her MREs.

He took up a position at the door to the bedroom. That would allow him to catch anyone charging through the door in a crossfire with Harry, who was in the kitchen. And if someone threw a grenade inside, he’d be able to dive for cover inside the bedroom.

But if the enemy came in through the windows…

“Reinforcements are on the way,” Harry informed him. “ETA three minutes.”

That would be more than long enough for a prepared force to storm the flat. On the other hand, if they were prepared, why hadn’t they started the attack already? And why hadn’t they shot at him or Harry earlier? They could have taken out Ron easily when he had gone to get food - he hadn’t expected a sniper. “This wasn’t an attack on us,” he said. “They wanted to get Scrimgeour.”

He took Harry’s muttered curse as agreement.

The next few minutes passed very, very slowly, but no one attacked them before they finally heard sirens. “What a terrible neighbourhood,” Harry commented. “Second night in a row there’s been a shooting.”

“Bound to drive the house prices down,” Ron replied.

“I doubt that,” Granger cut in. “This will be seen as a single incident, not a crime wave.”

“It was a joke,” Ron explained.

She huffed in response.

*****

**CI5 Headquarters, Westminster, London, July 7th, 2005**

This time, even Bones looked a little rumpled. Losing your second in command was bound to do that, of course. “Potter, Weasley. Sit down.”

Ron nodded and took a seat next to Harry. They had spent the last hour settling Granger in her old quarters and answering questions. He hoped that now they would get some answers.

“You saw Rufus’s murder,” Bones stated, staring at them. At Ron.

Ron nodded. “Sniper shot.”

“The preliminary report from forensics agree with that - the shot was fired from over four hundred yards away.” Bones shook her head. “They found the shooter’s position.”

Harry leaned forward. “Was there any clue as to how long the sniper had been set up?”

“Not for long, according to Alastor.”

Ron nodded. If Moody said that, then it was true. “They killed Scrimgeour without attacking us. All it did was alert us. This wasn’t aimed at Granger.”

“But if they wanted to kill him specifically, they would have had to know that he was visiting us.” He shook his head. “Not many would have known about that. Hell, we didn’t even know he was coming until I saw his car arrive.”

Bones’s stare grew more intense. “Indeed. He wanted to surprise you.”

Well, it had been a surprise.

“That means we have a leak in the department,” Harry said.

“Yes.” Bones looked like she had bit into a lemon. “This might not be related to your case at all - just an opportunistic attack on Rufus.”

Ron nodded, though he wasn’t completely convinced. Scrimgeour had made a number of enemies - anyone in his position would have - but to order an assassination? Who would go that far?

Bones shook her head. “Corban Yaxley will lead the investigation of Rufus’s murder. You will keep protecting Dr Granger.”

“Do we answer to him?” Harry asked.

Bones shook her head. “No, you’ll answer directly to me.”

That isn’t standard procedure, Ron thought as he nodded. Interesting.

*****

**CI5 Headquarters, Westminster, London, July 7th, 2005**

The next morning, Harry and Ron were about to enter their office - well, the one they shared with four other officers - when they were stopped.

“Potter. Weasley. A word.”

Ron schooled his features before turning around. “Good morning, Yaxley.” He tried not to emphasise the greeting too much, just enough to make a point.

“Yaxley,” Harry said curtly, making the same point.

The man scoffed. “My office.” He turned around before either Harry or Ron could reply, and Ron scowled at the man’s back as they followed him. Yaxley was almost as old as Moody - a few more years from being put out to pasture, as their former instructor would call it - but he could boast of neither Moody’s skill nor reputation. His age and connections were the only reasons he had risen so high in the department.

Which was why, once inside Yaxley’s office, Ron leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, flanking Harry, instead of taking a seat.

Yaxley scoffed again. “I’ve read your reports. They’re a little scant on detail.”

“There weren’t any details to report,” Harry retorted. “Scrimgeour arrived, got out of the car and was shot right away.”

“That was all I saw,” Ron confirmed.

“I’m not talking about the murder itself, but your assignment. Scrimgeour was shot on the way to you - practically on Granger’s doorstep. A blind man could see that the two cases are related. I need to know everything you know about her."

“I think the site of the ambush was a coincidence,” Harry replied. “Someone wanted to kill Scrimgeour and found out he was on his way to us and managed to get a shooter in place in time to catch him.”

The other man all but sneered at them. “Trying to solve my case? I’m not about to dismiss any possible clues. Certainly not at this point. Whoever killed Scrimgeour will pay. So, what do you know about Granger? Why is someone trying to kidnap or kill her?”

“We don’t know - we just started our investigation two days ago,” Harry pointed out. “We’re good but not that good.”

“Leave the conclusions to me. Just tell me, in your own words, what you saw since you met her.”

“We arrived on site at…” Harry started to quote their report, but Ron stepped on his friend’s foot.

“Dr Granger is doing research in quantum physics…”

*****

“He’s an arse,” Harry said an hour later as they were walking towards the guest quarters to fetch Granger so Yaxley could pointlessly interrogate her as well.

“Of course he is,” Ron agreed. “But finding Scrimgeour’s murderer is more important than trying to needle the bloke.”

“I doubt that he’s competent enough to find the murderer - with or without our help.” Harry grinned.

“But he’s competent enough to blame his failure on our supposed lack of co-operation,” Ron pointed out. 

His friend scoffed but didn’t contradict him.

“He’ll get his just desserts, anyway,” Ron went on. “Bones will need a scapegoat as well.”

Harry chuckled at that. “That’s true. But I’d like to be present when she reams him out.”

Ron shrugged. “We have our own assignment.”

“With which Yaxley’s currently meddling. Want to bet that Granger will blame us for this?”

Ron shook his head. That was a mug’s bet.

*****

“Didn’t you tell your colleagues that I wasn’t even near the window and didn’t see anything before you tried to squash me flat with your bulk?”

As Ron had expected, Granger was in a mood. Her usual mood. Well, Yaxley would have to deal with her. “Apparently, our detailed reports weren’t enough. We had to retell everything, and now it’s your turn.”

“Great. I could be doing actual productive work, but I have to talk to the police so they can cross off a box on their investigation checklist.” She shook her head, sending her messy ponytail this way and that.

“Wait… you want to go to work today?” Harry blurted out what Ron was thinking.

Granger looked at them as if this were the most stupid thing she had ever heard. “Of course. I’m already behind schedule.”

“You have a schedule for research? Isn’t that a little… optimistic?” Ron asked.

“I adjust it based upon past performance.”

“You mean it’s more like a guideline. A loose guideline.” He didn’t snicker, but it was a close call. And her frown told Ron that he was right on the mark.

“Alright, here we are,” Harry said, knocking on Yaxley’s door.

“Come in!”

Ron turned to Granger as the door opened. “Try not to hurt him too…” He trailed off. 

Granger was staring at Yaxley, paler than usual. And trembling. “Yaxley,” she whispered, too low for anyone but Ron to hear. But then she straightened and raised her chin. “Can we get this over with?” she asked, loudly, as she marched into his office. “I’ve got more important things to do today.”

Harry closed the door after telling Yaxley to give them a call when he was finished, but Ron wasn’t paying attention. Granger had recognised Yaxley. And she was terrified of him. Yet Yaxley hadn’t said anything about having met her before.

Had she just recovered some of her memories? Had Yaxley been among her kidnappers? He would’ve been old enough at the time. But if she had recognised him, why hadn’t she cried out and denounced him?

What the hell was going on? Every time he found a clue, it just made the case more confusing.

“She recognised Yaxley,” Ron said in a low voice, looking at the closed door of the man’s office. 

Harry narrowed his eyes. “He hasn’t said anything about having met her before."

“And she looked terrified when she saw him,” Ron added. 

“Crabbe’s death didn’t faze her.”

“Exactly,” Ron agreed, glancing at his friend.

“You think she recovered some of her memories from the kidnapping?”

“If she ever lost them in the first place,” Ron replied.

“But… why is she still alive?” Harry shook his head. “Yaxley’s no Moody, but he’s not an idiot. If he had been involved in that kind of thing, he’d have silenced her at the first opportunity.”

“He might not have been able to get to her at the start, and after it was revealed that she didn’t know anything, it wasn’t necessary any more,” Ron pointed out.

Harry frowned, rubbing his chin. “But to brazen it out… trusting that she wouldn’t recover her memories. Why didn’t he bolt right after she was found, if he was involved? And why would he insist on talking to her now?”

“Perhaps he knew that she wouldn’t talk,” Ron said.

“How? Stockholm syndrome?” Harry shook his head again. “She doesn’t seem to be the type.”

Ron agreed with that - Granger was no Patty Hearst. “Perhaps they had drugs that wiped her memory.”

“And let her go after seven years?”

Ron frowned at Harry’s raised eyebrows. “Just speculating,” he said. “But she knows and fears Yaxley - I’m sure of that.” He glanced around, then leaned against the wall next to the door and pulled out one of his brothers’ inventions.

Harry muttered a curse under his breath and moved to block him from view. “If anyone catches us…”

“They won’t,” Ron said, pressing the bug against Yaxley’s door and handing Harry an earbud. “If anyone asks, we’re listening to the latest pop song Ginny likes.”

He ignored Harry’s snort while he activated his own earbud.

_“I already told you: My work isn’t related to the development of quantum computers at all!”_

_“Potter and Weasley disagree.”_

_“I told them the same thing! And I’m the one with a doctorate in quantum physics! Now do you have any other questions that would better suit an episode of Dr Who or can I stop wasting my time here and return to my work?”_

“Yeah, she’s utterly terrified,” Harry muttered.

Ron glared at him. He knew what he had seen.

_“What foreign persons have you been in contact with to discuss your work?”_

_“You have copies of my electronic correspondence. Everyone is listed there.”_

_“No private conversations?”_

_“No. quantum physics isn’t a topic that tends to come up in private conversations. At least not the actual physics.”_

_“Are you sure?”_

_“Yes, I am certain.”_

_“What about your friends at work?”_

_“Of course I discussed my work with my colleagues at the faculty.”_

_“Would they share the information with others?”_

_“How would I know? You might not be aware of this, but normal people don’t tap their friends’ phones or hack their e-mail accounts.”_

Ron had to chuckle at that. Granger’s sharp tongue was entertaining when it wasn’t aimed at yourself. Sometimes even then, he admitted.

_“You’re not very co-operative.”_

_“I’ve answered all your questions to the best of my ability. It’s not my fault if you don’t seem to be able to ask questions whose answers would actually benefit your investigation. If I were to be any more co-operative, I’d need to solve your case for you!”_

_“You also seem remarkably unaffected by two killings on your doorstep.”_

_“I had good therapists who taught me not to feel guilty about anything that wasn’t my fault.”_

_“And yet you never recovered your missing memories.”_

_“Considering what kind of memories I’m likely missing, I think I’m fortunate in that regard.”_

_“It also means your kidnappers won’t get caught.”_

_“My therapists also taught me that I am not to blame for the lack of success of the police.”_

Ron thought he could hear Yaxley grinding his teeth in frustration.

_“Is that all? I don’t have all day.”_

_“For now. I might have more questions at a later date.”_

Ron hastily removed his brother’s special bug and took a step back. A moment later, Granger stepped out, glaring at him and Harry. “That was pointless.”

Ron grimaced at Yaxley behind Granger’s back, getting a sympathetic nod in return. Let the man think they were bonding over having to deal with the testy scientist.

But as he followed Granger and Harry through the hallway, he noticed that her shoulders sagged a little and she took a deep breath - as if she were relieved. 

A few moments later, though, she looked as usual - driven, frustrated and angry at everyone. “Can I go to work now, or do you have more questions to which you already know the answers?”

Harry cleared his throat. “Actually, you should really reconsider entering protective custody.”

Was that a flicker of fear running across her face? Ron couldn’t tell for certain before annoyance replaced it. “Why? You were fine with guarding me in my lab!” she said.

“That was before our superior was shot with a sniper rifle in front of your home,” Harry replied. They hadn’t actually identified the rifle yet, but a sniper rifle was basically a better hunting rifle anyway, so Ron’s friend wasn’t exactly lying.

Not that Granger seemed impressed by the term used, anyway. “That shouldn’t pose a problem with a decently armoured car, and I doubt a rifle would be of much use inside the faculty building. My lab doesn’t have windows, either, and we can use the staff parking area - it’s underground.”

That made some sort of sense - if you were the sort of mental woman who was fixated on her work to the exclusion of common sense and any hint of a self-preservation instinct. They should shut Granger down. On the other hand, if Yaxley was involved in this whole mess... “I’ll get an armoured car, then,” Ron said, ignoring the annoyed glance from Harry and the triumphant, if possibly surprised, smile from Granger.

*****

“You want an armoured car? After Scrimgeour’s murder, everyone wants an armoured car, Weasley!” Williamson glared at Ron. “And that means the cars we have go to those with seniority - not junior officers, no matter how hot they think they are!”

Ron grinned. “Oh, but we’re on protection detail. That takes priority, doesn’t it?” He slapped down the copy of his orders that he had taken with him. “We need an armoured car for our assignment.”

The other officer blinked as he skimmed the documents. “What? Isn’t that the bird in front of whose house Scrimgeour was shot?”

“Exactly.”

“And why haven’t you stuffed her into a safe house and told her not to show her face outside for the next few months, huh?”

Ron sighed - a little theatrically. “You wouldn’t be asking that question if you had ever met her. She’s a nightmare, honestly. And we can’t exactly lock her up - she already threatened to raise a stink with the press.”

“Really?”

He shrugged. “Not my call. So… I guess you’ll have to disappoint some senior officer, hm?” Ron grinned.

Williamson shrugged. “They can complain to Bones. Regulations are regulations.”

“Exactly!” Ron agreed, for once.

“Don’t break this one, though, or there’ll be hell to pay!” The other officer glared at him. “That means: Don’t let Potter drive! His crazy stunts put our entire budget in the red two years running!”

“Of course,” Ron lied. As if he’d let a desk jockey tell him and Harry how to solve a case. If they had to wreck a car to catch a crook, they’d do it.

If they caught Granger’s kidnapper or Scrimgeour’s murderer, not even Bones would criticise them, anyway.

*****

“So that’s why you agreed with Granger,” Harry commented - in a low voice; Granger was searching for something in her ratty beaded bag a few yards away - as Ron got out of the Audi A6 in CI5’s garage.

“That, and I didn’t think much of our chances to get her to agree anyway,” he said. “So we might as well profit from her stubbornness.”

“Right,” his friend agreed.

“New car?” Granger asked as she approached them. “Armoured?”

“Actually, yes,” Ron replied. “How did you know?”

“Why else would you get a new and expensive - and, therefore, more noticeable - car?” She shook her head.

“You forgot to add ‘elementary, Dr Watson’,” Harry commented.

She chuckled despite his sarcastic tone. Harry must be losing his touch, Ron thought. “Let’s go,” he said. Harry held out his hand, but Ron shook his head. “Williamson said not to let you drive.”

“Since when do we listen to him?” Harry complained.

“Since we’re in headquarters. We can switch later,” Ron said as he slid behind the wheel.

Since it was rather late in the morning, they made good time to the campus, and Granger got them into the underground staff parking lot without any trouble. Of course, she wanted to get out as soon as they parked, but Ron stopped her. “Wait.”

“What?” She froze, glancing around.

“Let us check for trouble, first,” Ron explained.

“But you’re more likely to get shot if someone’s waiting for us, aren’t you?”

She looked serious. The woman was mental. 

“More likely doesn’t mean you won’t get shot,” Harry pointed out.

“And we’re trained to spot an ambush,” Ron added. And to deal with trouble.

But there were no vans, nor any other cars that would easily hide someone. No tinted windows, and not many big SUVs. Ron still felt quite exposed even after they had checked the possible ambush spots.

They reached Granger’s lab without incident, though. And the woman went straight to work. Leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, Ron watched her take notes and use two calculators and her computer simultaneously. 

She was far too calm and collected. Two murders on her doorstep in two days, her parents in hiding and she didn’t bat an eye? It made no sense. Certainly not for someone who had been kidnapped as a kid.

She was hiding something, and he would find out what. Now.

“You recognised Yaxley,” he said, staring at her.

She froze for a fraction of a second, tensing up, before glancing first at him, then at Harry. “I’ve never seen that man before in my life,” she said in a far too calm voice.

“Yeah, right,” Ron retorted, “I saw your reaction when he opened the door to his office. You recognised him. And you were frightened. Terrified.”

She pressed her lips together, glaring at him, but he met her eyes. He’d stared down much more impressive people. And she had nothing on Mum’s glare, anyway. 

“I told you: I’ve never seen that man before.”

“Did you recover part of your missing memory?” Harry cut in.

“No.”

Harry went on: “If you did, you need to tell us. Whoever kidnapped you might be planning to do it again.”

“I don’t remember anything about my kidnapping,” she replied.

“Even if Yaxley merely looks similar to your kidnapper, it would be very helpful - possibly crucial - to prevent another crime,” Ron said.

“Aren’t you listening? I told you: I don’t remember anything about my kidnapping!” She stood, slamming her hands down on her desk, almost toppling over one of her stacks of paper.

“Why were you frightened of him, then?” Ron asked. “And you were; I saw your face.”

Once more, she looked from him to Hary and back, then she raised her chin slightly. “If I knew who was involved in the kidnapping, I would denounce them at once! But I don’t!” She wasn’t quite crying, but her eyes looked wet. For Granger, that was almost a nervous breakdown.

Perhaps we should ease up, Ron thought. She was a traumatised kidnapping victim, after all. Not a criminal. Probably not.

But Harry was pushing. “Why were you frightened of Yaxley, then, if you can’t remember anything and didn’t have a flashback?”

“Panic attack. I’m doing much better than I used to, but sometimes they still happen.” She had composed herself again. “Anything could trigger one.”

Her answer explained her reaction. But Ron didn’t believe her. She was lying. Ron could feel it in his gut. But he couldn’t prove it.

“You didn’t have a panic attack when I shot Crabbe. Or when Scrimgeour was murdered and we expected a follow-up attack on your flat,” Harry pointed out.

“They happen randomly. Like my nightmares.” She didn’t sound smug, but there was a hint of relief, in Ron’s opinion. She looked at them both, then sat down again and resumed working.

Ron clenched his teeth, swallowing a curse. He knew she was hiding something. He just didn’t know what it was.

*****

“You need to step away.”

“What?” Ron stared at her. She hadn’t said anything but 'Curry’, 'please’ and ‘thank you’ since their confrontation, and now she wanted…

“From the quantum mirror cage. I’m running a test.”

Ah. He took a few steps to the side. “A test?”

“Yes.” She bent down, connecting thick power cables to the base of the cage.

“And what’s it supposed to do?”

“I’m just confirming that the power demands are met and that the cables can handle the strain.”

“Really?” He didn’t believe it. Granger wasn’t the type. She would have tested that as soon as she had built the thing.

“Yes.”

“We’re in no danger of getting disintegrated, then? Reduced to our component atoms?”

“No.” She looked annoyed, even with half her face hidden by her bushy mane. “This isn’t Dr Who.”

“Too bad. A Tardis would be great,” he joked.

She tensed again and stepped back before walking to a console. “Don’t go near the cage! And don’t touch it!”

“One kind of precludes the other,” Harry pointed out.

She glared at them, then flipped a switch, and the cage started to hum as tiny sparks appeared on its metal bars.

Ron half-expected her to yell ‘It’s alive!’, but she only took more notes while cranking up the power until Ron expected an arc to appear between the bars at any moment, welding the machine shut. Or at least for her hair to get all puffy.

But neither happened before she finished her test and turned the thing off. “Just as predicted!” she announced, beaming at them for a moment, before her eyes widened and she turned away, returning to her desk without looking at them.

Mental, Ron thought again.

*****

Hours later, Granger finally seemed done with her work for the day, picking up a stack of notes and stuffing them into her bag. She even seemed a little tired, instead of looking like she were raring to pull an all-nighter with a few gallons of tea and a few pounds of chocolate keeping her awake and fueled. “Can we pick up dinner on the way home?”

“We’re not going to your home,” Harry told her.

“What?” She stared at Ron’s friend.

“Your flat isn’t safe enough,” he told her.

“I was told the police would be patrolling the area,” she replied.

“They will. But it won’t be enough. Not against people willing to murder Scrimgeour,” Harry said. “A patrol could easily be taken out by a sniper.”

“There’s also the fact that there’s no safe way to park the car in your area and transfer to your flat,” Ron pointed out. “There aren’t enough officers available to cover all possible sniping locations.” And that was not even taking the possible threat from long-range snipers into account.

“I see.” Granger nodded, to Ron’s surprise - he had expected her to throw a tantrum. “So where are we going, then? A safe house?”

“Yes,” Harry confirmed.

“I expect to be able to leave for work tomorrow,” she said, frowning at them both.

“That’s the plan,” Ron said. “Unless something happens, of course.” He didn’t trust their luck after two shootings in two days.

“Let’s go then.” Granger nodded and started towards the door of her lab, prompting Ron and Harry to beat her there - a bodyguard didn’t let their charge go first through any door.

Once more, they had to check the underground garage for an ambush. And the car for sabotage.

“I thought the police were guarding the perimeter,” Granger said as Ron knelt down to check the bottom of the Audi.

“They are,” Ron confirmed.

“But you still check for yourself, if you plan to stay alive in this business,” Harry added.

Granger snorted. “Constant vigilance?” Had she met Moody? No - the old man would have told Ron and Harry. She rolled her eyes at Ron’s expression. “You told me about your instructor.”

Ah. But had they mentioned his catchphrase? Ron wasn’t certain.

*****

**Kingston Upon Thames, London, July 7th, 2005**

“This looks very ordinary,” Granger commented as Ron put the takeaway containers on the table in the small house. “But it doesn’t look like anyone lives here.”

“No one does,” Harry said as he passed them on the way to check the basement - they had already checked both floors of the house.

“That could tip off the neighbours that something’s not normal, couldn't it?”

“The cover story takes that into account,” Ron replied. “Some expat kept the family home even though he moved to Australia.”

“With the right algorithm, you could probably find such safe houses,” she mused. “Just look for similar setups.”

“A search wouldn’t narrow it down enough to be practical,” Ron retorted. “And I doubt that there’s a mailing list for nosey neighbours.”

“Aunt Petunia would be on it if there were one,” Harry cut in. “Cellar’s clear as well,” he added.

Granger didn’t ask about Harry’s aunt, Ron noticed. She merely nodded in acknowledgement. And the way she looked at Harry… was that sympathy? There hadn’t been anything about Harry’s strained relations to his family in the news.

"Let’s eat,” Harry said. “Before the food goes cold.”

“There’s a microwave,” Granger had to point out, of course.

“That’s not a reason to delay dinner any longer,” Ron said. “I'm starving!” He was, actually.

Granger chuckled, shaking her head with a bemused expression, but a moment later, she closed up again, frowning as if she was angry at herself.

Dinner ended up being a rather quiet affair, and Granger was up and headed towards the stairs before Ron had finished his own meal.

“Which room’s mine?”

“The small one with the single bed,” Harry said - he had also finished his meal already. “We’ll take the double.”

Not that they needed it - one of them would be keeping guard while the other slept, and vice versa. But neither did Granger need a larger bed. Such things only happened in movies.

Two hours later, Ron heard her scream.

*****

_She didn’t want to do it. The last time she had done it… She shivered at the memory. Fur. Fangs. Whiskers. Ears that seemed to move of their own accord. Claws sliding out of her fingers at the slightest provocation. And a twitching tail that had a will of its own. And the instincts..._

_She shook her head. That wouldn’t happen again. This was safe. Mostly. As safe as she could make it - she had checked and taken the hairs herself._

_“Hey! Is something wrong?”_

_He was looking at her. Smiling, despite their situation._

_She returned his smile. “It’s alright, Ron. I’m just a little…” She shrugged._

_He nodded. “I know. Harry’s keeping an eye on them.”_

_She closed her eyes. Just for a moment. Taking a deep breath - facing away from the empty cauldron and its lingering smell - she stood. “The vials are ready.”_

_“Ah.” He knew what that meant. Wetting his lips, he looked back, over his shoulder, through the tent’s entrance._

_“Let’s go.” She nodded and stepped past him, out of the tent._

_Harry was leaning against the closest tree, watching their captives. Mafalda Hopkirk. Albert Runcorn. Corban Yaxley. Laid out on the ground, bound with magical ropes and covered with jinxes that prevented all known methods of magical travel. And still drooling from the overdose of Veritaserum Hermione had force-fed them, and the mind spells she had used on them._

_Their bodies and knowledge would allow Hermione and her friends to reach Umbridge. She handed the boys a dozen vials each, and the hairs she had tested._

_“Remember: We go in, get the locket and leave,” Ron said. “We don’t get sidetracked.”_

_“Of course,” Hermione agreed, feeling a little annoyed. She knew perfectly well that the locket took priority. “No attacking targets of opportunity. No matter how tempting.” She dropped one hair into a vial, then toasted her friends._

_A moment later, she felt her body change._

*****

_She was sick when they returned. Literally - she knelt down in the grass and retched, barely noticing how he held her hair back. Not that she cared. The things she had seen, in the Ministry… The crimes she’d had to watch, without being able to lift a finger, much less her wand, to help, lest she compromise their crucial mission..._

_She spat the last of her bile on the ground, then rinsed her mouth with a glass of water Harry had conjured. “Thanks.”_

_He nodded at her._

_“Those bastards…” Ron spat._

_She turned her head to look at their captives. They were awake, now, but still silenced and bound. They couldn’t move, but they could watch._

_Harry and Ron glanced at each other. “Better seal the locket up right now,” Harry said._

_She knew what he was thinking. And she was tempted to agree. Enter the tent. Ignore what was going to happen. It would be easy. And it would be wrong._

_As the Headmaster used to say: You had to decide whether you did what was right or what was easy. And she knew what was right. They hadn’t been able to save the poor prisoners in the Ministry. But they could ensure that their captives wouldn’t hurt anyone any more ever again._

_She shook her head. “No. Let’s get this over with.”_

_“Are you sure?”_

_She gave Ron a look, and he backed off._

_She picked Yaxley. He was staring at her, his face frozen, only his eyes moving, as she approached. She was tempted to yell at him. Confront him with his crimes. Make him confess. Make him sweat._

_But she just pointed her wand at his head._

“Reducto.”

_*****_


	4. The Inside Job

**Kingston Upon Thames, London, July 8th, 2005**

Ron entered Granger’s room with his gun drawn, looking for a threat. There wasn’t any. But thanks to the light from the hallway, he could see Granger sitting up in the bed, hands furiously wiping her face. Though there was nothing on her face. And she was panting. He could see her chest heaving. 

A panic attack if he had ever seen one. Or a flashback, part of his mind whispered.

She blinked, finally noticing him. “Ro…” She broke off, swallowing. “Officer Weasley,” she said, more calmly.

“Dr Granger. Nightmare?”

She nodded. “Yes.” Her hand rose, almost touching her left cheek before she dropped it again.

Harry arrived a moment later, wearing his trousers and not much else. He looked at Granger, then at Ron and sighed. “False alarm?”

“I had a nightmare,” Granger said. She was staring at Harry’s chest, Ron noticed. Most people did when they first saw his scar.

“I wasn’t hit by a cannon,” Harry told her in the same slightly annoyed tone he always used when explaining his infamous mark. “It was a normal gun - the scar just grew with me.”

“Ah.” Granger didn’t ask any questions and stopped staring at Harry. Only one person had reacted like that in this situation, as far as Ron knew: Luna, when she had met Harry swimming a few laps in the pond at Ron’s home. And Luna was pretty much the antithesis of Granger.

He glanced at his friend and found Harry looking surprised. Perhaps even a little disappointed that Granger wasn’t pushing for more details - Harry didn’t like talking about the events that led to him getting the scar, but he liked telling off nosy people. Well, it seemed that Granger wasn’t going to give him the opportunity.

“So…” She was looking at him. “You have ascertained that I merely had a nightmare and am not in lethal danger.”

Ron nodded. “Yes.”

“Then there’s no reason to stay in my room any longer, is there?” She pulled her sheets up as if Ron had been staring at her. He hadn’t, though - not that she was naked, in any case; she had taken a nightie from the safe house’s stock.

“No, there isn’t,” Harry agreed, glancing at Ron.

Ron merely nodded curtly and left the room. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” he said in a low voice once they were back in the hallway. “She goes from scared to considerate to abrasive inside of a minute.”

“There’s nothing in her file about any mental health issues - apart from trauma related to her kidnapping,” Harry said, heading back to the bedroom.

“Whoever examined her might have missed something. Or it could be a recent development,” Ron replied. “When I went in, she was about to call me ‘Ron’, and a moment later, she was all distant.”

Harry stopped at the door and looked at him. “She was about to call you ‘Ron’?”

“Yes.” Ron knew what he had heard.

“Are you able to read minds now?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “She said ‘Ro…’, then stopped.”

“That’s not very conclusive,” Harry retorted. “Could have wanted to call you a rotten bastard.”

Ron chuckled at that. “Perhaps she did,” he admitted. But he didn’t think so. “Anyway, we should…” He blinked. Had that been…?

“That was the alarm we placed on the door,” Harry confirmed. “Someone’s breaking in.” And they hadn’t triggered the regular alarm.

“Could be a burglar,” Ron said as he pulled his cell phone out. The cover story claimed that the house was unoccupied for long periods, and the special curtains kept the lights inside from showing outside. A burglar might think the house was unoccupied.

No signal. That was… “Someone’s jamming the cell phones.” No burglar would do that. Moody had been right again - always expect the worst, Moody liked to say, and so far this assignment had been one mess after another. 

Harry cursed. 

“Get your shoes and get Granger, I’ll cover the stairs,” Ron whispered, already moving towards them. 

A moment later, he was crouched at the top of the stairs, pistol aimed at the door below. Any moment now… Behind him, he could hear Harry go into Granger’s bedroom.

It took a little longer for the perps to pick the lock than he had expected. Harry would have gone through it in half the time - and he wouldn’t have triggered the alarm. Whoever this was, they hadn’t been trained by Moody.

Then the door was pushed open - slowly - and the first thing Ron saw was the muzzle of an AK-47. Definitely not a burglar, then. And not - as had happened before to a CI5 team in a safe house - Met officers investigating a possible burglary that the neighbours had reported.

No need to call out a warning, either, against that kind of firepower. When the head of the criminal, face covered by a ski mask, appeared, Ron squeezed the trigger and fired a 9 mm bullet into it. The man dropped dead in the doorway, his assault rifle clattering on the ground. Pushed by the falling body, the door swung open, and Ron spotted someone moving outside, but they took cover before he could snap off another shot.

What would they do now? They had lost their point man and the element of surprise. Smart criminals would retreat in this situation. But smart criminals didn’t carry Russian assault rifles. Or murder police officers with sniper rifles.

Footsteps behind him! He glanced over his shoulder. Harry was in the doorway of Granger’s room, with Granger herself behind him. She looked like he had dragged her out of her bed - still in her nightie, but clutching her bag. Nice legs.

He focused on the door again. “Got one,” he said in a low voice, “but there’s at least one more outside.”

Harry pulled Granger down at once. “We need to get to the car.”

Which was in the garage. They could reach it without leaving the house, but going down the stairs would put them into the field of fire of a sniper covering the front of the house. And Ron would bet that the same man who had murdered Scrimgeour was out there. 

“Someone has to have heard the shot and called the police,” Granger said.

“Cell phones are jammed,” Harry replied. “They wouldn’t have forgotten to sabotage the landlines either.”

“Who would be able to do that?” she asked.

“The same sort of people who could find out which safe house we picked,” Harry replied.

Granger’s gasp told Ron that she realised who Harry meant.

Traitors within CI5.

Something flew through the door, trailing flames, and hit the floor in the entrance area, shattering. A moment later, flames sprang up. 

“They’re trying to smoke us out,” Ron yelled, squeezing off two shots in the general direction of the door - just in case the enemy was planning a charge.

“Where’s the fire extinguisher?” Granger asked.

“Don’t!” Ron heard Harry yell. “They’ll be waiting for us to go down so they can shoot.”

“But they want me…”

Ron cut her off. “Even if they want you alive, they won’t expect you to be first and will shoot anyway.” 

Below, the fire was spreading. He could already smell smoke. They needed to get out of here - but the enemy would be waiting for them. 

“We need to get to the car,” Harry repeated himself.

Ron agreed. It was their best chance - as far as they could tell, since the alarm they had placed there hadn’t gone off, no one had broken into the garage yet. They just needed to get down to the ground floor and into the garage without getting shot.

He heard glass shatter, and the flickering light below grew stronger. Someone had thrown another petrol bottle into the living room. Time was running out. “The fire extinguisher!” he yelled.

“What?” Harry and Granger asked, but Ron was already running past them, towards the corner of the hallway. If it was… yes! It was a powder extinguisher!

He grabbed it and sprinted back. “Harry, grab Granger and follow me! I’ll cover us.”

“What? But you said they’ll…” Granger started.

Ron ignored her and pulled the trigger on the extinguisher, quickly covering the stairs, then the entrance area, in a thick cloud of fine powder before holding his breath and sprinting downstairs. They wouldn’t be able to shoot if they wanted Granger alive, but if they wanted to kill her…

He reached the ground floor without stumbling or getting shot and sent a powder cloud out the door, then covered the hallway and stairs again before moving towards the garage.

A shriek behind him made him stop, but a moment later, Harry yelled: “I’ve got her, go on!”

Ron reached the entrance to the garage, dropping the sputtering extinguisher and entering the garage with his pistol out again, quickly covering and checking the area while taking a deep breath. “Clear!” he announced as Harry arrived, Granger in tow. Both were covered in white powder - like Ron himself. 

Harry let go of her hand and rushed to the driver’s side of the Audi while Granger bent over, coughing and wheezing.

“Come on!” Ron told her, grabbing her and all but stuffing her into the car. He spotted someone moving in the hallway through the thinning clouds of powder and fired off two more shots, pushing the car door closed with his hip.

Another shot for good measure followed, then he jumped into the passenger seat as Harry gunned the engine.

Ron managed to pull the armoured door closed a second before Harry crashed through the opening door, wrecking it and their paint job. “Get down!” he yelled.

Granger shrieked as shots rang out, armoured windows getting covered in shallow craters where bullets failed to penetrate the glass - mostly on Harry’s side, Ron noticed.

His friend put the car into a narrow turn, narrowly missing a parked SUV, and Ron felt the slight shock when one of their tyres got shot. That wouldn’t stop the car, though, certainly not with Harry behind the wheel. Ron’s partner accelerated and drove the Audi down the road. A far too tight turn round the closest street corner later, they were clear.

That didn’t mean that they were safe, of course. Ron pressed his lips together as he started to come down from the adrenalin high of combat, reholstering his pistol - after a tactical reload, of course.

"How did they find us?” Granger asked. “Who knew that we were there?”

That was the crux of the issue. “No one outside CI5 knew of that safe house. Even fewer knew we were there,” Ron said.

“There’s a leak, then. Probably the same leak that caused Scrimgeour’s death.” Granger went on.

“It’s possible,” Harry agreed.

Granger scoffed. “Do you honestly think that you have two leaks in your organisation?”

If CI5 had been penetrated by two different organisations, they would be the laughing stock of the police service, Ron knew. Worse than they already were, of course - many would love to see CI5 taken down a notch or two. Especially the Met - Bones and Scrimgeour had a tendency to run roughshod over them when solving a case. And Ron would be lying if he claimed not to have enjoyed their special status at times.

“In either case, I don’t trust CI5 any more,” Granger went on. “As an organisation. You two are above suspicion, of course.”

“Why, thank you for the vote of confidence,” Harry drawled.

Ron chuckled.

“You saved me twice,” Granger replied. “But I worry about my parents.”

“And you don’t trust Yaxley,” Ron said.

“No, I don’t. But I don’t have any logical reason for my suspicion.”

“Female intuition?” Ron joked.

Granger snorted at that.

“We’ll have to call Bones. We can trust her - if she were compromised, she would have simply replaced us with other agents,” Ron said. But would Bones know who to trust?

“And we’ll need burner phones,” Harry added.

“Pardon?”

“Too many know our cell phone numbers. Any traitor would be able to track us through them,” Ron explained. “They’ll be tracking us already, but Harry’s driving too fast for them to find us.”

“Ah.”

Harry had to stop at a red light. “Yes. But that’s only a temporary solution. Call Bones and fill her in.”

Ron pulled out his phone. He had a signal again.

*****

**Soho, London, July 8th, 2005**

Ron checked carefully for any tails or witnesses before he approached the rental lockers near the hostel and Tube station. He didn’t spot anyone suspicious, though, before he reached the locker they had rented - on Moody’s advice. Ten seconds later, he was walking away with a sports bag in hand. Just another young man coming home late from a trip.

He snorted - it was a little too late at night for that.

“Trouble?” Harry asked as he approached the side alley where his friend was hiding with Granger - they were slightly underdressed for clubbing.

“No,” Ron replied, putting the bag down and opening it. “Let’s get you two dressed.” They’d have to get one of their weapon bags, later - whoever was behind this had too much firepower to rely on their pistols. Bones would loathe it, but they had no choice.

“You’ve got female clothes in the bag?” Granger sounded sceptical.

“Unisex,” Ron replied with a grin, handing Harry a phone and pocketing one himself. “You can wear some jeans and shirts of ours. Might be a little loose on you, though.”

Granger nodded. “I’ll manage.”

For a certain definition of ‘manage’, Ron thought a minute later. Ginny wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing rolled-up jeans - even Harry’s were far too long for Granger - and a loose shirt. Well, not so loose in the chest, he noticed. Though it wasn’t as if he were staring - but as a police officer, he was trained to notice details.

“So, Bones said to ‘lay low and contact her in a day or two’,” Harry summed up as they were walking down the street five minutes later. “We’ve already ditched the car with our phones.” Well, they left it in a car park. Bones would recover it from the Met. “Which means we’re on our own for now.”

“Seeing as you have a private getaway bag hidden in London - and I doubt that you only had one - I assume that you’re prepared for this,” Granger commented.

Ron chuckled at Harry’s pout. “We’ve got a few options,” his friend said. “You might not like them.”

“I’ll manage,” Granger replied, patting her bag. Did she expect them to go camping for a few days and rely on her MREs?

“Good, since you’re the weak link here,” Harry told her with a grin. “We’ve got fake IDs for ourselves, but, obviously, not for you. Which means we’ll have to find a hotel where they won’t ask questions if a woman visits two men in their room. You’ll have to dress up.”

Granger gaping, finally at a loss for words - if only for a few seconds - was a sight Ron would treasure.

*****

Even after being told that she wouldn’t be posing as a prostitute, just a party girl, Granger was still fuming. The woman couldn’t take a joke. 

“And where will you get ‘appropriate clothes’?” she asked. “Unless you think jeans and a shirt are the height of fashion in the club scene. Which, I’ll have you know, they aren’t.”

“Second-hand shop,” Ron replied, checking for tails while Harry took point.

“I wasn’t aware that there were any open at this time of the night,” she commented.

“There aren’t,” Ron told her. “And if there were, using them might draw attention.” Unlikely, but not impossible, as Moody liked to say.

“Breaking into a shop will also draw attention,” she retorted.

“Only if they notice.” He grinned at her. “Which they won’t, I’ll have you know.”

She really didn’t like having her own words quoted back at her. Or she loathed his imitation of her. Either way, her glare was a sight to see.

“Knock it off, you two, and get with the programme. People are staring,” Harry cut in. “We’re here, anyway.”

“Here?” Granger had to ask.

“At ‘Fabolous Frankie’s’,” Ron said. “The second-hand shop which will help us turn you hip. Or at least get you into clothes that were fashionable this millennium.”

"You don’t exactly dress like a model either,” she shot back.

“Not yet.” He grinned.

“So that means you will commit fraud as well as petty theft?”

He had to laugh at the implied insult. “Good one. You’d almost think you have a sense of humour!”

“I do have a sense of humour,” she retorted, proving Ron right, “it’s just a little more sophisticated than yours.”

“I see. You must have left it in your flat, then? Or did you feed it to your quantum mirror cage?”

“Dial down the flirting, you two,” Harry interrupted. “We have a shop to break into.”

"Funny,” Granger commented in a tone that meant the opposite.

Ron chuckled, though, and went to help Harry with the lock on the back door of Frankie’s. This wouldn’t take long. Well, breaking in wouldn’t take long. Finding clothes that made Granger look trendy would be a challenge. 

It didn’t take long. Frankie hadn’t changed the lock since the last time they had checked for stolen goods without a warrant or his knowledge. Lazy - but then, most people able to easily pick his locks wouldn’t waste their time on his cheap clothes.

“Come,” Ron whispered, holding out his hand to Granger as Harry opened the door.

She scoffed and ignored it, walking past him. He frowned behind her back. If she stumbled and broke something...

She didn’t, and they reached the back room of the shop without trouble. Unlike some of his competitors’, Frankie’s storage area had no windows. It was perfect for some after-hours shopping - Ron wasn’t keen on picking clothes in the dark, or in the dim light of a penlight, just so the passers-by outside wouldn’t notice them.

“And here we are! Clubbing clothes, self-service!” Ron announced as he flicked the light switch on and revealed rows and stacks of clothes.

Granger picked up a shredded ‘Sex Pistols’ T-shirt from the closest stack and frowned. “Punk has been dead for a quarter of a century,” she said.

“It’s vintage now,” Ron told her, “but I don’t think torn fishnets would look right on you.” Although her hair certainly fit the punk look.

“And what would suit me, then?”

“Leather?” He grinned at her.

“I don’t ride a bike,” she replied, a moment before her eyes narrowed. “I think a gimp suit would be fitting for you.”

“I didn’t think you knew what a gimp suit was,” he said. Or that she had understood his veiled dig.

“I know a great deal more than you imagine.”

“I can imagine quite a bit.”

She sniffed. “I doubt that if you have to quote movies as comebacks.” 

And Harry chuckled behind the row of older jackets.

“If not for Ginny, you’d be stuck in the 90s,” Ron told him.

“Like you?” Harry shot back.

Ron scoffed. Then he saw the perfect outfit for Granger and grinned. “Hey! Take this!” He waited until she was about to turn around, then threw the torn jeans and bustier towards her. She managed to catch them, though, before they hit her in the face, but her expression when she held them up was still amusing.

“Are you serious?” She shook her head.

“No, that’s Harry’s godfather.”

“That joke’s older than these clothes.”

“It’s a second-hand shop. But this look’s only about three years old,” Ron replied.

“Britney Spears wants her clothes back.”

“She’s rich enough to buy new ones. Put them on - you’ll be able to run in them as well if you need to. And the style fits your bag.”

To his surprise, she agreed.

Some people had no fashion sense.

Although, Ron had to admit ten minutes later, Granger looked hot in tight, ripped jeans and a bustier that might have been a size too small - not his fault; Granger hadn’t exactly flaunted her figure. Well, hot compared to her usual look, at least, he amended his thought.

And she was blushing a little, he realised, even as she glared at him.

“Perfect!” he stated.

Harry agreed, although Ron couldn’t tell if his friend merely wanted to leave as soon as possible.

*****

They found a youth hostel at the edge of Soho with a bored night clerk behind the reception desk. Bored and stoned, Ron corrected himself as he caught a whiff of the distinctive smell of marijuana. Must have had a spliff outside.

The man didn’t even glance at their fake passports. However, the security camera in the corner didn’t look broken - but it was mounted so high, just keeping one’s head down would prevent it from recording their faces. Not that it was very likely that their enemies would get the recordings, but Ron wasn’t about to get sloppy now.

“So… uh… you stay past noon, you pay for another night,” the clerk drawled as he handed them their keycard. “That’s noon, not half past noon. Got it?”

Harry nodded. “Got it. We’ll probably be staying a few days anyway - depends on the ‘scene’, you know?”

“Birds,” Ron added with a lecherous grin.

“Ah!” The stoner nodded. “Sure thing.”

The guy was already looking for his next spliff, Ron saw as they went upstairs.

The room was passable. Solid door, though the lock wouldn’t take a professional more than ten seconds to pick, the bed and bathroom looked clean and it was on the first floor - they would be able to jump down to the street if they had to.

After dropping their ‘travelling bags’ on the bed, they left again, asking the clerk - who didn’t even bother to leave his smoking blunt outside this time - about the best club for ‘chatting up birds’.

Granger was where they had left her - waiting in the replacement car, hiding behind the passenger seat. With the car parked in the darkest corner of the car park, the only way anyone would have been able to spot her would have been by shining a flashlight into the car. Still, Ron felt quite relieved to see her glare at them when they opened the doors.

“Am I allowed to leave the car now? Or have you decided to make me sleep in the trunk?”

Ron rubbed his chin, pretending to think it over, but Harry kicked his shin. “We got a room, and it’ll be easy to sneak you inside without the night clerk noticing.”

“You mean I didn’t have to dress up like this?” she asked.

“You still needed to change your appearance,” Ron retorted. “No one will connect a party girl with Dr Granger.”

“Should dye your hair, though,” Harry added. “Or cut it and get a wig. We should be able to get one tomorrow.”

“My hair’s fine,” she replied in an icy tone, running a hand over her messy pony-tail.

“Fine’s not the word I’d use.” Ron shook his head. More like ‘catastrophic’ or ‘in need of emergency hair care’.

“Your haircut doesn’t exactly hint at any competence regarding hairstyling,” she replied.

“That’s enough,” Harry cut in. “Let’s head inside.”

“You’re starting to sound like Percy,” Ron whispered as they walked back to the hostel. “If you get any more respectable, Ginny’ll expect a proposal.”

“Mind your own business,” Harry shot back.

He must have touched a nerve. But then, Ginny had been hoping for a proposal since before she and Harry had gotten together.

The night clerk was busy getting high as they entered and not at his desk, so all they had to do was make Granger keep her head down and act drunk as they passed the camera and then they were safely inside the room.

With the single king-sized bed, Ron realised a moment before Granger did and loudly voiced her displeasure with the arrangement.

*****

Ron woke up with a tangled mess of bushy hair in front of his face. What the… Someone was shaking him. Harry!

“It’s eight am. Time to get up.”

Ron rolled back to their side of the bed, away from Granger before she could wake up and take offence. “Why didn’t you pull me back before I tried to use her as a pillow?” he complained in a low voice. Harry had been on guard; he would have noticed.

“It was funny to watch you move closer in your sleep,” Harry told him with a smirk.

“Ha ha.” It was as funny as the twins’ spider pranks, in Ron’s opinion. And, given Granger’s temper, probably twice as dangerous.

Speaking of the devil… he saw Granger twist, roll on her back, then turn her head to glare at them. “You woke me up.”

“It’s time to get up,” Harry said - far too cheerfully, in Ron’s opinion.

“And you apparently let him almost molest me in my sleep.” Her glare grew more furious. “That’s exactly why I didn’t want to share the bed.”

“I would have pulled him back before he touched you,” Harry replied. “But as long as you weren’t actually touching, where’s the harm?”

For once, Ron fully shared Granger’s opinion. He’d have to get back at Harry - once they were done with this case.

She huffed. “So, what’s the plan for today? Dress up as mimes and hide in the city? Join the circus?”

Harry ignored her sarcasm. “We’ll get breakfast, then rest until lunch. Like normal partying tourists.”

“And no, we won’t go back to your lab,” Ron added. “They’ll be waiting there, and I don’t fancy getting shot by a sniper.”

“Won’t you contact your superior?” Granger asked as she slid out of the bed.

“She said to wait a day or two; it’s not even been half a day,” Ron replied.

“Wouldn’t she have asked you to wait for twenty-four to forty-eight hours instead, if she didn’t mean the next day?”

Scientists! Ron sidestepped the question. “She was probably up all night. I’d rather not call her when she’s going to sleep.” 

She scoffed in return and entered the bathroom.

Ron closed his eyes and leaned back. It would be a while until he could go take a shower. For all her lack of makeup and hairstyling, Granger did take her time in the bathroom.

*****

“Can I ask you a question?” Ron asked an hour later, after the waiter in the street café they had picked had finally brought their order.

She looked up from her cup of tea. “Yes?”

No sarcastic comment. A good sign. Hopefully. “Why are you so fixated on your work? It’s not curing cancer, or fusion power or anything that can’t wait a few days or weeks, is it? Just experimental physics.”

He could see her jaw set and her lips turn into a thin line for a moment, before she sighed. “It’s personal.”

“That’s obvious,” he replied, then winced. “Sorry. I don’t want to pry, but...”

“Then don’t.”

He pushed on, ignoring Harry’s glances. “But you’re willing to risk your life for it.” And Harry’s and his own, incidentally. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this.” She was acting as if lives depended on her success. As if people would die if she failed.

“It’s personal,” she repeated herself. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

She closed up again and stared at her teacup.

“It’s not related to your past, is it?” He couldn’t think of a reason it would be, but he didn’t know what had happened to her. No one did.

“What?” For a moment, she stared at him with wide eyes. “No, of course not.”

She was lying. He was certain of that.

“We’re risking our lives for you,” he went on. “We need to know why your work is so important.”

She shook her head, rather violently. “As you said, as I told you, my work isn’t really important to anyone other than myself.”

“So the people sending killers after you are doing so because they made a mistake and think your work is important?” That was ridiculous.

“It’s the only explanation that makes sense!” she retorted.

Ron doubted that. Her work wasn’t a secret, and the kind of criminals - or spies - who had the resources to kill Scrimgeour and infiltrate CI5 weren’t the kind of people who made such mistakes.

He bit into his slice of buttered toast, glancing at Granger. It was like a puzzle with missing pieces. But he’d solve it.

*****

“She knows what this is about,” Harry said after Granger had gone to the bathroom.

“I’m not sure,” Ron replied, keeping an eye on the door. “She’s lying, but I’m not sure what she’s lying about.”

“The kidnapping.”

“That makes no sense.” Ron shook his head. “What could have happened that she can’t talk about but would lead to her becoming a wanted woman - wanted for her work as a quantum physicist?”

“Her work is the only reason anyone would be going to these lengths,” his friend said. “After all these years, at least.”

Ron wasn’t convinced. “We’re missing something. Something crucial.”

Harry made a non-committal noise. Ron tore his eyes off the door and looked at his friend. He looked… concerned. “What?” Ron asked.

“You seem to be taking a personal interest in this case.”

“What?” Ron blinked when he realised what Harry was hinting at. “I’m interested in the case, not in her.”

Harry didn’t look like he believed Ron. But he was wrong. Granger wasn’t his type. Too snippy, too plain, too arrogant.

*****

**Clissold Park, Stoke Newington, London, July 9th, 2005**

Ron didn’t like this. They were too exposed. Too vulnerable. “Who arranges a meeting in a bloody park?” he muttered, eyes scanning the closest hedge. Especially with a sniper on the loose.

“Your boss,” Granger, standing next to him in a floral-print summer dress even Luna would probably consider too tacky, replied. At least her ratty bag wasn’t visible, having been stuffed into a larger linen handbag.

“I know that. I was asking a rhetorical question,” he snapped. At her surprised, then rapidly darkening glare, he added: “Sorry.”

“You said Bones could be trusted,” she said.

“Yes.” Ron forced himself not to look back at the tree in which Harry was hiding with the L1A1 they had taken from their private depot. His friend had his back. Their back. “She can be trusted. Bones would rather die than bend the law, much less break it.”

“But you don’t trust her subordinates.”

He glanced at Granger. Her lips, pretty much the only thing visible of her face under the wide-brimmed hat she was wearing, were forming a thin line. “We don’t know who the traitor inside CI5 is. We don’t have any clues,” he added.

“I told you that I had never seen Yaxley before,” she snapped.

“I didn’t mention his name,” he pointed out.

“I know what you meant to say,” she retorted. “And I’m telling you: I don’t know anything about a traitor in CI5.”

“But you think it’s Yaxley.”

“I have no proof nor any rational reason to suspect him.”

“That’s not a denial.” He bared his teeth. Gotcha!

“Can you at least try to act like a couple out on an afternoon stroll?” Harry’s voice interrupted his next line before he could voice it.

“We’re a couple going through a break-up,” Ron shot back. “We tried to talk it out in the park, and we failed.” It was an even better cover than Harry’s idea - who would expect a bodyguard to argue like this with his charge? Well, anyone who knew Granger, obviously.

“We’re what? Ah.” Granger, who couldn’t hear Harry, nodded. “Good idea.”

He smiled at her. “Thank you.”

“Now they’re getting along!” he heard Harry sigh over the radio.

“You’re just…” Ron started, but, once more, Harry cut him off.

“Bones’s arriving. East entrance.”

Ron whirled around. Yes, there was a woman walking towards them in a sharp suit. About the right height and weight - though the hair was blonde. A wig, he realised once the woman came closer.

“Weasley.”

Yes, that was Bones - Ron would recognise her annoyed voice in his sleep. “Boss,” he replied.

“Are you alone?” Granger showed her usual tact.

“Of course,” Bones replied. “No one knows I’m here. Not even Alastor - though he’ll suspect.”

“You didn’t even bring a guard?” Granger blurted out.

“My trusted officers have more important tasks than playing bodyguard.” Bones sneered. “Such as protecting your parents as they go into hiding and hunting down the mole in my department.”

“I see,” Granger replied. "Things are worse in CI5 than I feared, then.”

Ron cleared his throat before Granger could make Bones even angrier. “What’re our orders, ma’am?”

"You’re reassigned. You and Potter will help Alastor hunt the mole. We need to find the traitor yesterday.”

Ron gasped almost against his will. But that would… “Who’ll take over for us?”

”No one. I’ll take Granger to her parents - at a location only known by myself. That way, we only need one protective detail for the entire family.”

That made sense. A lot of sense, actually. And Ron was happy to go on the offensive, instead of hiding and running. But… He glanced at Granger. She looked grim again.

“Any questions?”

“No, ma’am.” He turned to Granger. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”

“Yes.” He saw her bite her lower lip as if she was unsure what else to say. “Thank you for all you’ve done,” she said after a moment.

“Just doing my job,” he replied - and winced when she flinched before nodding without any expression.

“Smooth,” Harry added his unneeded opinion.

“Let’s go, then. If I don’t return in time, Alastor will assume the worst,” Bones said, already turning around.

“Alright.” Granger glanced at him, then took a few steps to catch up with Bones.

And he was watching her walk away. Cursing under his breath, he turned away.

“Company!” Harry yelled into his ear. “A car just pulled up next to Bones’s with armed men!”

Ron whirled, sprinting towards Granger and Bones, while Harry started shooting. He saw the attackers appear in the entrance, one falling as Harry’s shots found their mark. Bones pushed Granger down and opened fire as well. He was still too far away to hit anyone reliably, but just a few more seconds…

Bones went down, part of her head missing.

“Sniper!” Harry yelled.

Ron had almost reached Granger - Bones was beyond help - and started to weave while shooting at the attackers. He just had to make them seek cover until he had pulled Granger to safety. Harry could cover them - and spot the sniper. “Run!” he yelled. “Ru…”

Something hit his chest with enough force to make him stumble and fall. He rolled across the ground, coming to rest on his belly.

Then the pain in hit him. He had been hit. Sniper. Hit but not killed. He had to get up. Get Granger to safety. Get up. Shoot. Get up. Get up.

Suddenly, everything went dark.

*****

_“They’ve gotten in! They’ve gotten in!”_

_“What?” She gasped._

_“Death Eaters! They’ve gotten in!” Neville came to a stop next to her, panting. “Coming through the defence classroom.”_

_That couldn’t be true. This was Hogwarts - the safest place in Britain. She shook her head. It was impossible!_

_“We have to tell the others! Tell them to barricade the dorms!” Neville regained his breath._

_“Where are Harry and Ron?” She asked. They had been with him, headed towards the Room of Requirement to prepare for the next DA lesson._

_“They went to tell Dumbledore. Luna went to Ravenclaw Tower,” Neville replied._

_“I’ll tell the Hufflepuffs. Go to our dorm!” she snapped and broke into a run towards the kitchens. The Hufflepuff dorm was right next to them. The closest route was two stairs down, across the courtyard…_

_She took the stairs three steps at a time, jumping the last five and whirling without losing speed - not after more than a year’s worth of training with the DA. She didn’t dash across the courtyard, though - she stuck to the hallways, keeping under cover._

_She was almost at the kitchens when she heard the screaming. Wand drawn, she stopped at the corner, then peered around._

_And gasped again. There were two dead house-elves on the ground. Reductor Curses, she realised. And a Death Eater was standing there, over a student. Hannah._

_The other witch was screaming, countless cuts sprouting all over her body. Hermione recognised the curse - Sectumsempra, from Snape’s book._

_Her Bludgeoning Curse smashed into the Death Eater’s shield. The man whirled round instead of diving for cover, and her second curse hit him in the chest, flinging him into the wall with bone-breaking force._

_She dashed forward, readying the counter-curse, but before she reached Hannah, her own shield was shattered by another curse - the Death Eater was still in the fight._

_She dropped to the ground and cast another volley of Bludgeoning Curses that took the man down for good, then scrambled forward, wand flashing as she cast._

_When she finished her counter-curse, Hannah had stopped screaming._ _And stopped breathing._

*****


	5. The Truth

**Clissold Park, Stoke Newington, London, July 9th, 2005**

He wasn’t dead. Yet. Ron could still feel the pain in his chest. And the grass beneath him. And he could hear screaming. And shooting - from Harry. But he couldn’t see anything - it was suddenly completely dark. In the middle of the afternoon. Oh, God - he had gone blind! Had he been shot in the head as well? Not that it mattered, not with a sucking chest wound, and with his legs refusing to work. 

“Ron! What happened?” Harry.

“Don’t know,” he managed to reply.

Then he felt someone touching him, patting him down. Up. Holding his shoulder.

“Hold on!”

Granger. He recognised her voice. Easily. And lowered the pistol he had started to raise - his arms still worked, despite the pain.

“Run!” he spat.

“What?” Harry asked. Another shot followed.

“Drink this!”

“Wha...?” Ron managed to say before a hand on his face cut him off. She was feeling around for his mouth, he realised - she must be unable to see anything either. Then something cold touched his lips. The rim of a glass.

“Drink!”

And she tipped his head back while pushing the glass to his mouth. He screamed at the pain the movement caused to his wound, then gargled when cold liquid filled his mouth and ran down his throat. He coughed and sputtered. “Are you trying to drown me?”

“Ron?” He heard Harry’s voice again.

“Shhh.” 

Once more, she patted him down - reaching for his wound.

“Don’t!” he hissed. The expected pain didn’t come.

“What are you doing?” Harry sounded frantic. “Everything disappeared in a black cloud.”

“Get up! We need to run!” Granger hissed. “They’ll come after us any moment now!”

Ron chuckled. “You run! I’m done for.”

“No, you’re not! Come on!” 

She pulled on his arm. Once more, there was no pain. What drug had she given him?

He tried to get up, if only to stop her from dragging him. It worked. “Hell of a drug,” he muttered.

“Drug?” Harry asked.

“Come on!”

He started to run, her hand in his. He’d bleed out any moment, but there was no pain. And his legs were working again.

And then he could see again - they were running towards Harry’s position. He glanced back. A huge sphere of utter darkness - pitch black - covered most of the area, blocking the line of sight to the attackers.

Another shot rang out from Harry’s M4 carbine, and Ron saw a man who had been trying to flank them collapse.

“Run!” Harry yelled.

They ran.

Ron expected to be shot at any second. To collapse from blood loss - he was feeling light-headed, but that was probably the drug’s effect. But his whole front was covered in blood. His own blood. Instead of dying, he managed to keep running and reach the copse of trees where Harry was hiding.

He followed Granger behind a thick tree and leaned against it, sliding to the ground. He swallowed, panting, and then, gingerly, pulled his blood-soaked shirt up to check his wound.

So much blood. “I need a bandage,” he said.

“I’m coming!” Harry all but yelled.

“No, keep shooting them. Keep them away,” Ron retorted - but Harry was already on the ground, rushing towards them.

“Fuck!” his friend cursed, crouching down next to him and pulling out an emergency bandage from his belt. “You’ll make it!”

Where was the wound? Ron stared at his chest, brushing the drying blood away. Where was the wound? He had been shot. He had bled. He had felt it.

Where the hell was his wound?

He looked up. Harry was staring at him. Ron turned his head, looking at Granger. Harry did the same.

“What the hell did you give me?”

“A rare potion.”

“A what?” Had she said potion? “A magic potion of healing?”

“Exactly.”

“We can discuss this later. We need to go _now_ ,” Harry snapped. “Before they recover their nerve. They’ll be trying to flank us already, and it looks like the darkness is fading.”

“It should last a little longer,” Granger replied.

Ron pushed himself up, feeling more than a little dizzy. He steadied himself with one hand against the tree. He had gone through worse. In a manner of speaking. Granger took a step towards him but stopped when he pushed off and started jogging.

They made it out of the small patch of trees and bushes, on to the gravel path leading out of the park.

The sight of Harry’s carbine was too much for the few passers-by who hadn’t yet fled despite all the shooting and screaming. Harry tried to hide the gun under his shirt, but that didn’t work very well.

Not that Ron could help - he had enough trouble just going on and keeping up with the others. Even Granger noticed - she slowed down, but he shook his head, gritted his teeth and pushed on. Their car was close by, anyway. He just had to last until then.

He barely made it. If anyone had tried to intercept them, he would have been useless. And dead. Not that he felt too alive right now, either. He grabbed the roof of the car to keep from toppling over.

“Sit in the back.” Granger grabbed his arm. “I’ll treat you.”

“With another magic potion?” Ron managed to say as she pushed him on to the backseat, then climbed in herself.

Harry gunned the engine and sped away before she managed to close the door behind her.

“We’ll have to ditch the car again,” he said. “And we need to get a doctor for him.”

“I can treat him,” Granger replied. She was already patting down Ron again, or so it felt.

“You’re a physicist, not a physician,” Harry retorted as he took a corner at high speed.

Ron laughed at that.

“He just needs his blood to be replenished. He’s physically fine otherwise,” she said.

He didn’t feel fine. But he didn’t hurt any more. He wasn’t quite sure if that was a good or bad sign, though.

“Drink this!”

She was pushing something - a vial - into his face. He blinked. “A vial?”

“It’s a Blood-Replenishing Potion,” she said. “Drink it!”

“A magic potion?” That wasn’t how you did blood transfusions.

“Drink it, or I’ll knock you out and pour it down your throat myself!” She glared at him.

“Hey!” Harry yelled.

Well, something had saved him so far. He shook his head but took the vial. Or tried to - she didn’t let it go.

“This is irreplaceable. I won’t let you spill it by accident.”

He was too tired to argue, even though he wanted to, and so he only moved his lips to the vial, then let her tip it and pour the liquid into his mouth.

It tasted foul, but he couldn’t spit it out - she held his mouth shut until he swallowed, despite the tight turn Harry took that almost threw her into him.

He felt nauseous. He wanted to retch. He pushed her off him and coughed, sticking his tongue out. “What the hell!”

“Are you feeling better?”

He blinked. He was, actually.

“You’re looking better. Less pale. The potion worked, then.”

“There was a chance it wouldn’t?” Harry asked.

“It’s been a few years since it was brewed. Potions don’t keep forever,” she replied.

That wasn’t very reassuring, in Ron’s opinion. “How long will it last?” he asked. If this was a stimulant, then he needed to know when he would crash.

“It’s a permanent effect,” she told him. “It’ll last until you get shot in the chest again.”

He had to chuckle at that, no matter how misplaced the joke was. “That’s a hell of a drug,” he said.

“It’s not a drug,” she spat.

“I’m coming up to the parking garage,” Harry announced. “We’ll change cars there.”

“Won’t they see us on the cameras?” Granger asked.

“No,” Harry replied, rather curtly.

“We know where the blind spots are,” Ron explained.

“Ah. Moody’s lessons?”

“Yes.”

A few minutes later, they left the garage in another car. Ron was up front, this time. Not just because he was feeling much better, but also because the back seats were very cramped.

Granger, to his surprise, didn’t complain. She wasn’t even glaring at his back, he noticed with a quick check of the mirror in front.

Weird. But not nearly as weird as her ‘potions’.

“We need to get you to a doctor,” Harry said once they had left the neighbourhood.

“I feel fine,” Ron told him.

“You were shot and you’ve twice imbibed unknown substances,” Harry retorted. “We need to get you checked out at once.”

Worded like that, Ron had to agree. “We can’t use CI5’s doctors, though,” he pointed out. “They’re compromised.” He caught Harry grinning and closed his eyes. “Not the vet.”

“Moody trusts him,” his friend replied.

“Moody doesn’t trust anyone,” Ron retorted.

“But he’d let him treat his wounds,” Harry pointed out.

Ron groaned and leaned back.

*****

**Southwark, London, July 9th, 2005**

“Perfectly healthy,” Ron announced as he left the office.

Granger, back in Harry’s jeans and a shirt from Frankie’s, with a baseball cap hiding her hair, looked at him as she stood up from the chair in the vet’s kitchen. “I told you so.”

“You’re not a medical doctor,” Harry replied, joining them.

“Neither is Mr Jones,” she retorted. “He’s a veterinarian.”

“He actually is, or was, a surgeon,” Ron explained. “He was in the Falklands War, though, and got so traumatised he couldn’t work on humans any more, so he became a vet.”

She made a point of looking at him, Ron noticed, so he added: “He got better. And he only had to examine me.”

“Ah.”

“Let’s go!” Harry said. “I’ve paid him, and we have a few things to discuss.”

Granger looked a little nervous at hearing that, Ron noticed.

*****

**Richmond upon Thames, London, July 9th, 2005**

“Is this another safe house no one knows about?” Granger asked when they pulled up in front of a very average looking house. “Like the last one?” she added, as if her sarcastic tone hadn’t made it clear what she was thinking.

“It’s not a CI5 safe house,” Harry said, scanning the street. “Clear.”

Ron couldn’t see any threats or anything out of the ordinary either. “Clear.”

They got out of the car, and Ron pulled his seat forward so Granger could climb out from the back seat.

“You’ve got your own safe house?” she asked, sounding both relieved and appalled at once. “How much money did you sink into this?”

“It’s not exactly ours,” Ron told her as Harry unlocked the front door. They quickly ushered her inside.

“Sirius’s old bachelor pad. I should have known.” Granger said before the door closed behind her.

“How did you know that?” Harry asked. Ron saw that he was tense. “It was bought through a straw man decades ago.”

She pointed at the huge painting of a scantily clad female biker - a comics character from an old magazine that Sirius had liked so much, he had commissioned the painting in his ‘rebellious youth’, Ron had been told - in the living room.

“You’ve investigated us,” Harry said.

‘Stalked’ seemed more accurate, in Ron’s opinion.

“In a manner of speaking,” Granger replied, sitting down on the couch - rather gingerly, and after brushing some dust away from the cushions. She must have managed to collect herself during the drive here - she didn’t seem nervous any more.

No, she was still nervous. Ron noticed her fingers digging into her thighs, and she tapped her foot a few times before crossing her legs a little too casually. She was putting up a cool front, but it _was_ a front. “What did you give me?”

“I told you already: a magic potion.”

“Magic isn't real,” Harry snapped.

“Then explain why Ron’s not dead, but in perfect health.” She sniffed slightly.

Ron was tempted to cough and retch, but Harry was too tense for even a little joke.

“He was hit with a rubber bullet soaked with blood,” Harry replied. “It knocked him down and made it look as if he’d received a fatal wound.”

She stared at him, then shook her head. “Don’t you think that Ron would have realised that there wasn’t an actual wound?”

“Yeah, mate,” Ron said. “It didn’t feel even remotely like a rubber bullet.” And they should know - Moody was fond of running exercises using such ammunition.

“Some agent in the blood that made you more susceptible to pain, probably some hallucinogenic component as well,” Harry told him. “You thought you were shot and bleeding.”

“And why would they want Ron to think that, instead of shooting him like Bones?” Granger asked, not quite rolling her eyes.

“It was meant for you, to make us think you had been killed and your body dragged off, but the shooter messed up when Ron charged in.”

Granger scoffed at the idea. “Weren’t you taught that you should never assume that the enemy made a mistake but rather that it was a trap instead?”

That was almost a direct quote from Moody, Ron realised.

“It’s much less ridiculous than magic,” Harry retorted.

“And Ron almost dying from blood loss was just my stimulants losing their effect, I suppose.”

“Yes,” Harry spat.

"And I fed Ron a stimulant that countered the agent, then another to take care of the side-effects? I somehow knew the truth? And was prepared for it? After launching a super-effective smoke grenade?”

“Yes,” Harry said through clenched teeth. “We know you’ve been lying to us. You know why people are hunting you. If you have access to such technology, it would explain a lot.”

“I told you: I don’t know why people are hunting me.”

Harry’s theory was very far-fetched, Ron had to admit. Straight out of a cheap science fiction movie. He didn’t think his friend truly believed what he was saying, either. But what Granger was claiming was straight out of a cheap fantasy movie. On the other hand, he had been shot - he was sure of that. Mostly. “Prove it,” he said.

“What?” Harry and Granger said in unison.

“Prove that you can do magic.” He grinned at her. “You want to do it, or you’d have agreed with Harry’s theory.”

She glared at him, then sighed. “Very well.” She got up. “Please examine this,” she said, holding out her ratty beaded bag.

Ron took it and opened it, peering inside. It looked like a normal if old handbag. Purse, lipstick, handkerchief, key ring, notebook, another notebook, pens… Harry snorted and took it from him, then upended it and let its contents drop on the floor before making a production out of turning it inside out.

Granger was annoyed - Ron could tell - but she nodded. “It’s a normal bag, right?”

“Yes,” Harry replied, fingering the fabric.

“Give it back!” She held out her hand. After a moment, Harry handed her the bag. “Thank you. You might want to take a few steps back. I’ll need some space."

“For what?”

“For everything inside it,” she said, flashing them a toothy smile as she restored her bag, then uppended it.

And far more things than could have fit the bag started to pour out of it. Rations. Camping supplies. Backpacks. PET bottles. Ron had to take a few hasty steps back to avoid getting buried under enough food and drink to feed an army. 

“Bloody hell!”

He picked up an MRE that had ended up next to his foot. It felt solid and heavy in his hand. No inflatable decoy. It was real. He prodded the rolled up sleeping bag. That felt real as well. Looking at the mound of camping - survival - gear - he shook his head. There was no bloody way that all this stuff would have fit into her bag. Nor would she have been able to hide them under her clothes.

“How?” he heard Harry ask. “How did you do that?”

“Magic,” Granger replied with a wide, smug grin. “I’m a witch.”

Harry started to dig through the heap. “Magic doesn’t exist.”

“Oh, Merlin’s beard!” He saw her roll her eyes. “Do you honestly believe that I managed to set this up in advance in your own secret bachelor pad?”

“‘Merlin’s beard’?” Ron ignored Harry’s attempt to find a secret trapdoor in the floor and cocked his head, looking at Granger. Magic was real?

“A wizarding expletive,” she explained.

“That makes it sound as if there are more of you… witches.” How could that be possible? How could this have been kept secret?

Her expression turned hard. “No. I’m the only one here.”

Here. “You’re not from here, are you?” Ron asked. Other dimensions as well? That was… He didn’t know what it was. Such things weren’t real. But they were.

Her eyes widened a fraction, then she nodded. “No.”

“And you want to return.” Things were starting to make sense. As much sense as something like magic could. “You’ve been scamming the faculty to get money and supplies for magical experiments!”

“What?” She glared at him. “I’m not scamming anyone! I’m doing research in quantum physics! The research council is getting what it’s paying for - I’m merely doing more than anyone knows.”

“And you scammed the Grangers into thinking you’re their lost daughter,” Harry said, standing up.

Her eyes seemed to blaze as she rounded on Harry. “How dare you! I told them everything upon first meeting them! It’s not my fault that I’m the wizarding counterpart of their daughter!”

Ron briefly wondered if she’d turn Harry into a newt. Then he wondered if she actually could do such a thing. If magic was real, what were its limits?

“And they believed you?” Harry sounded doubtful.

“They weren’t as stubborn as you once they were faced with actual magic,” Granger retorted.

Which meant, Ron realised, that they had been humouring her until that point. “Alright, magic exists,” he said. “Or at least technology so advanced that it might as well be called magic,” he added, mangling Arthur C. Clarke.

“Folding space or extra-dimensional storage wouldn’t explain healing you from the brink of death,” Granger replied.

Obviously, she had read the same books that he had. Ron grinned, despite the gruesome reminder of his near-death experience. “Nanites programmed to repair my body on a cellular level.”

“And they instantly passed through your digestive system to reach your gunshot wound?” She scoffed. “I would have poured such a concoction directly on the wound. Provided constructing and directing such machines was feasible in the first place!”

He nodded, acknowledging the point. “Well, at least now we know why people want to kidnap you. They want to use you to do magic.”

“That’s impossible. No one knows I’m a witch. No one apart from the Grangers, and now you two.” She shook her head rather emphatically.

This time, Harry scoffed. “You want us to believe that you never used magic where someone might have observed you?”

Ron could see her pressing her lips together. “What exactly can you do? You mentioned that the potions were irreplaceable.”

“I lack the resources to brew more potions. Almost all of them require reagents that do not exist in this world,” she replied.

Ah. Ron nodded. “So, you make magic items and potions which you then use, but you need exotic components which you can’t get here.”

“It’s not quite like that,” she said, holding out her hand. “Accio sewing kit!”

A small plastic case rose from where it was perched on top of another MRE and flew towards her hand. She had to make two attempts to catch it, though, Ron noticed. And she glared at Harry. “Don’t you dare suggest searching me for wires or magnets!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t going to.”

“Have you accepted that magic exists, then?” Granger couldn’t win gracefully, it seemed.

Harry grunted something unintelligible, and Granger sniffed. “That was wandless magic. It’s hard and not very effective.”

“‘Wandless’?”

“Normally, a witch - or a wizard - uses a wand to cast spells,” Granger explained. “It allows for far quicker and far more powerful spells. Wands revolutionised spell-casting when the Romans invented them. All other methods of working magic were rendered obsolete, with the exception of a few fringe cases. A wand is a witch’s most important possession. There are entire customs centred on wands and how to treat them.”

“And you don’t have a wand,” Harry said, interrupting her lecture. “Or you’d have shown off with it.”

The comment made her purse her lips - Harry must be right, Ron thought. Granger was the type to show off.

“I lost my wand before I ended up in this dimension,” she admitted.

“Couldn’t you make a new wand?” Ron asked.

“Theoretically, I could. I would just have to find a substitute for a dragon’s heartstring, a fitting wood and then rediscover how to make wands - which would be like you making a Swiss Army knife after washing up on a deserted island.”

“Your sarcasm needs some work,” Ron replied. “But if wands are so important, how do you expect to return to your home without one?”

“Ritual magic and physics,” she replied. “Casting a spell using a ritual takes hours, which makes it impractical for most purposes, but it has its uses.”

Harry frowned. “And you know ritual magic, but not how to make a wand?”

Once more, she pursed her lips. “I studied rituals before I was… dimensionally misplaced.”

Interesting. Ron didn’t think Granger was the type to study useless things. Although getting stranded in a different world might change her priorities. And it seemed to have been an accident that brought her here. If she was telling the truth - they had seen no proof of her story. Other than the magic, of course.

“Leaving the intricacies of magic wands aside,” Harry said, staring at her, “you’re suddenly very open with your secrets. And you know a little too much about us for someone who just read an article about us in passing.”

Granger sighed again and sat down on the couch. “I keep forgetting that you’re police officers,” she said in a low voice as she stuck her arm up to her shoulder into her bag and pulled out a small, plain box. She opened it carefully and took out a framed picture. “Don’t break it.”

Ron took it and gasped. It was him, Harry and Granger as teenagers, waving at the camera - the picture was animated - and hugging each other. But the Harry in the picture had a scar on his forehead. “You knew our counterparts,” he said, looking into her eyes.

She nodded. “We were best friends.” Her smile rather rapidly turned sad, though.

Ron wanted to ask for more information but turned the picture around in his hands instead. No sign of a screen - no pixels. Magic. He handed it to Harry.

“What’s with the scar on his face?” Harry asked - Ron caught the slight hesitation before the pronoun, but Granger probably missed it. Unless their counterparts acted like them.

“It’s from surviving the Killing Curse,” she said. “Harry was the only one, ever, to survive that curse.”

“Someone tried to kill him?” Harry asked.

“The Dark Lord Voldemort. He killed Harry’s parents, then tried to kill him. It backfired.”

Ron pressed his lips together, swallowing his first comment. This was no joking matter. “Backfired?”

“Voldemort was hit by the reflected curse and turned to dust - although he wasn’t killed; he survived thanks to the Dark Arts.” Granger frowned. “He couldn’t be killed.”

Harry scoffed. He was clenching his teeth, Ron noticed - his friend was remembering the day his parents had been murdered by Riddle.

Granger’s lips formed a thin line as she met Harry’s glare. “You weren’t there. You’re not _my_ Harry,” she replied to his unspoken comment.

Ron cleared his throat. “So… that’s why you researched us.”

She turned to him. “Yes. I wanted to know…” She shrugged. “I shouldn’t have. You’re not them.”

“No, we aren’t,” Harry said. “I _killed_ the murderer of my parents.” He touched his chest. His scar.

“The terrorist Tom Riddle. I’ve read the books.” Granger scoffed. “Not Skeeter’s, of course.”

Harry scoffed as well - he loathed ‘The Boy Hero’. “Smart of you.”

“Did you have a Skeeter in your dimension as well?” Ron asked. Her reaction seemed to indicate that.

“Yes. She didn’t write sensational books, though, but libellous articles.” She sighed. “As one of Harry’s friends, I was a target of hers. Harry had it worse, of course.”

Ron was tempted to ask about his own counterpart but didn’t. That would have been vain. “Why?”

She looked at him as if he had asked a stupid question. “He was one of the most famous wizards in Britain. The Boy-Who-Lived.” Harry scoffed again, and she frowned. “You have to understand that Voldemort - whose birth name was Tom Riddle, actually - wasn’t a mere terrorist working for various groups. He came close to toppling the government of Wizarding Britain with his followers. He was so feared that even a decade after his defeat at Harry’s hands, people were afraid to speak his name.”

Ron blinked, and even Harry, who had looked ready to blow his top at the idea that the murderer of his parents was a ‘mere terrorist’, seemed taken aback.

Granger sighed. “I’ll have to start at the beginning, then. In Little Hangleton, in the 1920s. A witch named Merope Gaunt, who had fallen in love with Thomas Riddle, the son of the local squire…”

*****

“...and that was how the First Wizarding War - that’s a British term, actually; the rest of the world calls it the First British Civil War - ended in 1981.”

For all her posturing, Granger must have loved telling the tale. Or rather, giving a lecture on the subject. Well, she was an academic, after all. Ron glanced at Harry. His friend had calmed down. Mostly. Hearing about how another Potter family had been murdered by a madman - although quite a bit older than the one Harry had shot - must have hurt. And that Sirius had been sent to prison without a trial… But there was something else. “First Wizarding War implies there was a second,” Ron said.

And Granger’s face seemed to turn to stone. “Yes.” After a moment, she added: “It was still going on when I… ended up in this world.”

“And you fought in it,” he went on, then frowned at the surprised glances from Granger and Harry. Granger had an excuse, but Harry should know better. He almost rolled his eyes. “You were best friends with the other Harry, who was prophesied to defeat this ‘Voldemort’. That must have made you a priority target for those ‘Death Eaters’. And since you are so… determined to return, even though, as you just said, there is a war going on, you didn’t just flee and hide.” 

She nodded slowly. “That’s correct. We - Harry, Ron and myself - were fighting. We were Britain’s most wanted wizards and witch, actually.” She must have noticed his expression since she added: “Voldemort was successful with his second attempt at a coup d’état. He took over the country and…” She trailed off. “We had to go underground.”

And now she wasn’t looking at him or Harry any more, but staring at the wall.

Ron didn’t think this would be a good time to ask what happened in the Second Wizarding War. Even though he was really curious about his own counterpart. “Why did you decide on a ‘quantum mirror cage’?” he asked instead. “A cage is designed to contain something, not open pathways, isn’t it?”

“Misdirection,” she replied. “I can’t exactly advertise that I’m working on a dimensional portal. Even if I were to receive any funding for that, I would have been the laughing stock of the entire field.”

“The popular magazines would have loved it, though,” he said.

“They would have depicted me as crazy. They would have started rumours about alien abductions - and then claimed that I believed in such nonsense.” She pursed her lips. “And I would have been pestered by fools who believe in such things.”

Ron blinked. “You are a witch. You can do magic. Isn’t it a little hypocritical to scorn those who believe in aliens?”

“Not at all. There is no evidence at all that aliens exist.” She sniffed in apparent disdain.

“What about people who believe in magic without any evidence? Are they fools as well?” 

“Yes.”

“And if they manage to discover such evidence?”

She pressed her lips together and glared at him. She really didn’t like having her own words turned back on her.

Harry chuckled, which earned him a glare as well. He didn’t seem to be amused, though, Ron noticed.

“In any case, you now know why I need to continue my work, even if it puts me at some risk.”

“‘Some risk’? The people after you have already killed two of the most senior police officers in the country. If you go back to your laboratory, you might as well call them in advance and arrange a suitable time and place for a kidnapping,” Harry snapped.

“Besides, you’ve got your notes and crucial work with you, don’t you?” Ron said. When her eyes widened again - why was she so surprised that he had deduced that? - he pointed at the pile of camping supplies. “There aren’t any notes in that mess. And I know you stuffed sheets of paper into your bag. Which means it holds more than just those.”

“Probably enough to equip another lab,” Harry added. “With enough food and other supplies to finish your work.”

She clenched her teeth before answering: “Relying on my bag’s contents will delay my progress. It’s a measure of last resort. It is possible, in theory, but not very practical. I need my lab.”

“That’s a ‘yes’,” Ron replied with a grin. Then he grew serious. “You cannot continue your work at the faculty. Even if the kidnappers weren’t already covering it, the police would take you into custody - for your own good.”

“Or as a suspect,” Harry pointed out. “Your story has a few inconsistencies, and unless you’re willing to admit that you’re being hunted because you’re a witch, they won’t accept your statements.”

“No one knows that I’m a witch!” she insisted. “I never worked any magic where it could have been witnessed!”

“Well, either you messed up and were observed, or someone figured out that you’re working on interdimensional travel,” Ron said. 

“That’s impossible.”

“Shouldn’t that be ‘inconceivable?” Ron grinned at her expression - she got the reference, and she didn’t like the insinuation that she wasn’t as smart as she thought she was.

“Help me put the supplies back into my bag,” she said, still glaring.

Ron chuckled again and bent down to pick up an armful of MREs, but Harry left the room.

*****

Ron found Harry in the kitchen, whipping up dinner. As expected.

“Finished watching the witch at work?” Harry asked. He sounded a little bitter. Ron hadn’t expected that.

“We finished putting the camping supplies back into her bag,” he told Harry. “She’s now checking her notes.” He leaned back against the counter, close to his friend. “She offered to let us eat her MREs, but I declined.”

Harry didn’t laugh. That wasn’t a good sign. “I guess this is a dream come true for you,” he said, shaking his head. “A witch fleeing a war in another dimension, trying to get home - like in your movies.”

“I told you that my hobby would come in handy one day,” Ron replied. That made Harry snort, at least. Although he hadn’t really thought about what magic being real meant. And parallel worlds being real.

“She knows things she shouldn’t know. She knows _us_ ,” Harry said. “Some weird wizard versions of us.” He turned to glare at Ron. “She might have slept with one of them. Or both.”

That was entirely possible, of course. Best friends, fighting a guerilla war, as teenagers? All alone against the world? Yeah, that was a recipe for some tension-relieving shagging, if Ron had ever heard one. But he didn’t think so. “She didn’t look at us like she wanted to see us naked.”

“She stalked us.”

Ron didn’t think you could call these exact circumstances stalking. But that wasn’t the point. “That doesn’t mean she wanted to shag one of us.” 

“Do you want to shag her?”

“What? No,” Ron said. Granger wasn’t his type. “Why are you so…” He trailed off. “...so moody?”

Harry scoffed at Ron. “Why do you think she was afraid of Yaxley? Because he was her enemy in her world. She recognised Crabbe as well. And she knows us. I bet she also knows all of Yaxley’s friends. But she didn’t tell us or warn us. If she had, perhaps Scrimgeour and Bones wouldn’t have been killed.” 

Ron froze for a moment. He hadn’t thought of that. Although… “She said she had no proof, but she all but accused Yaxley. Would we have believed her without proof?”

“She had proof of magic, though,” Harry retorted. “She was carrying it around with her.”

That was true. “I don’t think she expected the murders,” he said. And she had saved his life.

“She should have,” Harry snapped, turning back to the pots and pans.

Ron shook his head. That wasn’t fair. “Well, after Scrimgeour, so should have Bones.” And they should’ve expected it as well.

*****

“What’s with Harry?” Granger asked as soon as Ron rejoined her in the living room. She was sitting on the floor, surrounded by stacks of paper - obviously, her bag held even more than he had expected. And had a way to keep its contents sorted.

He played dumb. “What do you mean?”

Granger narrowed her eyes. “Earlier, Harry all but stormed out of the room. It’s obvious that he isn’t taking this whole thing as well as you seem to be.”

“It seems our counterparts are more similar to us than I thought, hm?” Ron replied.

“I don’t know what you were thinking,” she told him. “But I do know that you’re being evasive now.”

“Because my counterpart acted the same?” He cocked his head slightly.

“No, because it’s obvious.” She stood and crossed her arms. “We’re isolated, being hunted and can’t trust anyone. In this situation, we cannot afford for Harry to throw a tantrum.”

“It seems that you don’t know us as well as you think you do.” Ron met her eyes. “Harry’s not happy with you keeping secrets. He thinks that if you had told us the truth, Scrimgeour and Bones wouldn’t have been killed.”

She gasped but recovered her composure a moment later. “Did he expect me to just tell strangers about magic?”

“If you’re getting attacked by counterparts of your enemies, yes,” Ron said. “You knew Crabbe.”

“What?” She shook her head. “That’s not how it works. I knew his counterpart, yes. But my Crabbe was a bigoted pureblood willing to murder muggleborns with Malfoy and Voldemort.”

“Malfoy?” Could it be…?

“Draco Malfoy. A despicable, cowardly bigot who thought people like me - muggleborns, wizards and witches born to non-magical parents - had no right to live. They called us ‘mudbloods’ and had death squads hunt us down. Magical Nazis in all but name!”

“Blond, arrogant, always mentioning his family’s money and his father?” Ron asked.

“Yes. You’ve met his counterpart?”

“We went to school with Damien Malfoy. Bloody ponce.” He shook his head. So Malfoy could have been even worse.

“But not with Crabbe or Goyle?”

“I never saw either until Crabbe tried to shoot us,” Ron said.

“Oh. They were Malfoy’s muscle. Almost inseparable.”

“We’ll have to look into a possible tie to Malfoy, then.” At least that should cheer Harry up.

“I don’t think that is the case,” she told him.

“Why? Did you investigate him?”

“No,” she said with a frown. “But this country is very different from Wizarding Britain.”

“But Malfoy is still an arse and a racist.” He snorted. “Some things are constant, it seems.”

“That doesn’t mean I could have anticipated Scrimgeour’s murder. Or Bones’s.”

“We could have taken more precautions,” he retorted.

“Really?” She raised her eyebrows. “I have some difficulty in believing that. You were trained by Alastor Moody’s counterpart, weren’t you? Constant vigilance? You probably did everything you could think of already.”

“You know him?” That explained some of her comments.

“His counterpart was our Defence teacher for a year.”

“Moody taught you self-defence?” That must have been a hell of a school.

“Defence against the Dark Arts,” she corrected him. “Although it covered self-defence as well, though with a wand. And Duelling.”

“Ah. Magic duels?”

“It's a sport. Not quite as removed from actual fighting as modern fencing, but a good duellist isn’t necessarily a good fighter. Especially when facing multiple opponents.” She grimaced and rubbed her shoulder. “They are generally very dangerous when facing a single opponent, though.”

As she had probably found out the hard way. “And you were never into sports, hm?”

She pressed her lips together. “I focused on academics. And if you’d seen the wizarding idea of sports, you’d have done the same.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Duelling sounds fun.” He grinned

She sniffed in response. “You sound like Ron.”

Well, they had already established that.

“It’s still not my fault that Scrimgeour and Bones were murdered. No one but you and my parents knows about magic. Telling you about magic wouldn’t have changed anything.”

Ron didn’t think that it was as easy as that, but it was clear she had not considered that her being a witch might endanger others. So, at worst, she had been mistaken, not callous. He inclined his head and made a non-committal noise.

She frowned again - she was doing that a lot - and shook her head. “I’ll set him straight.”

“No.” He reached out to grab her arm but settled on simply holding his hand out, stopping her without touching her. “He needs to calm down and think about all of this. Give him some space.”

She didn’t answer - and she was staring at something he couldn’t see.

*****

_“This is pointless! We should be ambushing Death Eaters!” Harry yelled, throwing the book he had been reading on the ground and leaving the tent._

_“Harry!” She jumped to her feet._

_Ron grabbed her arm. “Give him some space, Hermione!”_

_“But…”_

_“He just lost his godfather. He won’t listen to your lecture about rituals to find Horcruxes. Let him calm down outside.”_

_“But that’s not safe!”_

_“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” he retorted. “He’ll be fine.”_

_He was right. No mind-controlled or duped police officer would find them here. But that didn’t mean they were safe from every danger. “What if he…” She trailed off, not willing to say it out loud._

_She didn’t have to. Ron understood. “He won’t. You know him.”_

_She did. But Harry was changing. They were all changing. Had changed. You couldn’t fight a war and stay unaffected. You couldn’t kill and remain the same person you were. She knew that very well._

_Sighing, she sat down again. “I just want to help him.” Harry was trying to bottle his grief up. Or, worse, channel it into hatred._

_“I know.” He stepped behind her, rubbing her shoulders. “We all do.”_

_“But we’re the only ones with him,” she whispered. The rest of the Order cells had their own tasks and bases. Sirius had used the enchanted mirror to talk with Harry, but now… perhaps Remus would replace him. Not that you could replace him. “We’ll avenge him.”_

_He didn’t answer, but she felt his hands tighten a little._

_“By finding and destroying all of the Horcruxes,” she added._

_“Yes.”_

_“I’ll fix dinner,” she said. Harry usually did it, but… their pantry was overflowing. She would find some tins or frozen dinners she could use._

_“Ravioli?” His voice was light, teasing, and she blushed. That hadn’t been her finest hour. Or meal._

_His fingers found a knot in her shoulder, and she closed her eyes. Ron… She buried the thought before it could form. As she had done before._

_She couldn’t. They couldn’t. Harry needed them. More than ever. And none of them could afford such a… distraction._

_But once the war was over..._

*****


	6. The Friend

**Richmond upon Thames, London, July 9th, 2005**

“Dr Granger?” Ron wondered if she was having a flashback.

Granger recovered at once, though, and shook her head. “Sorry. Just a memory.” She looked a little rueful.

“Ah.” Once more, he was tempted to pry, but Granger didn’t seem to be in the mood to share. Well, not if it concerned her past - he was sure that she was always ready to give a lecture.

She gave him a look, her expression a mixture of annoyance and fondness. “Yes, it was about your counterparts,” she told him. 

“Ah,” he repeated himself. “I’m easy to read, hm?” he prompted her.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re more subtle than him.”

He nodded, acknowledging her rebuke. “Déformation professionnelle, I’m afraid.”

She made a noise halfway between a scoff and a snort. “Well, I guess Ron could have grown more subtle with age as well.”

This time he couldn’t resist. He had to ask: “Did he die?”

“No,” she said quickly. Then she took a deep breath. “He was alive when I was transported here. But we were in the middle of a battle, and…”

“And the odds weren’t great,” he finished for her.

After another of her sad looks, she nodded. “The odds weren’t great from the very beginning, but it was a particularly tight spot.”

That explained her fixation on returning at all costs. “And you feel guilty for leaving them.”

The glare was back as she bared her teeth. “I didn’t leave by choice.”

“But you still feel guilty about it.” It was plain to see. Obviously, she had never told her therapist about that event.

She clenched her teeth so hard, he could see her jaw muscles twitch, then turned away and grabbed a sheet of paper - at random, he was certain.

But he nodded and left the room.

Now both Harry and Granger were sulking and annoyed with him. It wasn’t one of his better days, to be honest - even if you didn’t count him getting shot and nearly killed.

*****

“It’s good,” Granger commented after the first bite.

"Thank you,” Harry replied - after a noticeable pause.

“Harry’s a good cook,” Ron said. Not as good as Mum, of course. But better than Ginny, which was - despite her claims of not caring about it and not wanting to be a housewife anyway - a sore point for Ron’s sister.

“Not all of us want to live off takeaways,” Harry replied. It almost sounded like their usual ribbing.

Ron shrugged. “Cooking for yourself is inefficient.” He could always visit home, anyway, if he wanted to eat well.

“And you’d burn half your meals.” Harry snorted.

“That happened once, and I was pissed,” Ron retorted. “And you didn’t exactly do anything to prevent it, either.”

“I was drunk, and watching you was funny.”

“So you claim,” Ron shot back.

“My first attempt at cooking ended with a ruined pan,” Granger said after a moment. “The instructions were incorrect.”

Ron chuckled - he could imagine that: Granger, glaring at a smoking pan as if it were the pan’s fault, cookbook in hand, wearing a little apron…

“You were at fault for picking the wrong instructions, then.” Harry sounded a little too sharp for friendly ribbing.

“Nothing a spell couldn’t fix,” Granger retorted, in an equally not so friendly tone.

Ron cleared his throat. “We need to talk about what we’re going to do now,” he said. Before these two drove each other mad.

“We have to stay under the radar,” Harry said at once. “If Yaxley is behind this, then we can’t trust anyone in CI5.”

“Colin would never betray you,” Ron pointed out.

“He can be fooled. Easily,” Harry replied. “And everyone knows that he likes me. I bet you a hundred pounds that Yaxley has him bugged already, in case we make contact.”

“That’s probably how they got Bones. Must have bugged her or her car,” Ron agreed.

“She would have checked,” Harry retorted.

“After Scrimgeour? Yes. But she might have missed something. Or Yaxley had this planned for some time, and was aware of her contingencies.” Ron shrugged.

“It doesn’t seem to have been a well-planned operation so far,” Harry pointed out. “The attack on the safe house had too few people to succeed. But two days later, they had over half a dozen shooters in the park.”

Ron nodded. “Rush job on the house. He didn’t know how long we planned to stay and hit us on the first night with what he had available. Then he got reinforcements for the ambush at the park.”

“It won’t help him, though.” Harry grinned. “Scrimgeour and Bones killed by a sniper? A shootout in a public park in the afternoon, in the middle of London? MI5 and Special Branch will be all over this. He can’t keep this in house. And he didn’t have enough time to cover all his tracks. He’s going down.”

“But he has to have known that. Why would he take such a risk?” Ron pointed out. “Killing Scrimgeour triggered the whole thing. After that, Bones wouldn’t rest until she found the killer. But killing her made things worse.”

“Yaxley’s not the smartest bloke,” Harry replied.

“But he’s smart enough - more than smart enough - to realise that much. So, why start all this?” Ron shook his head. “And where did he get his reinforcements? You can’t just hire mercenaries.” This wasn’t a movie. He snorted. “He’s got a backer.”

Harry slowly nodded. “Yes, that would fit. But it’s still a huge risk to take.”

“Perhaps he had no choice,” Ron speculated. “If his backer has a hold over him and ordered him to procure Dr Granger, what are the odds Scrimgeour would have found out?” After the fact, most likely.

“So he decided to go for broke?” Harry sounded doubtful. “He could have run.”

“And be hunted by CI5 - and by his backer as a loose end?”

“Good point,” Harry conceded.

Ron noticed that Granger was staring at them both. She looked very impressed.

And he liked that, he realised.

“That is a convincing conclusion - but it depends on Yaxley being behind the murder of Scrimgeour and Bones,” Granger said. “And there’s no evidence to support that hypothesis.”

“His counterpart was an enemy of yours, though, wasn’t he?” Harry said with a frown. He didn’t like to be wrong, Ron knew. Well, no one did.

“That doesn’t mean, though, that your Yaxley is a criminal,” she replied with a frown. “He could be a perfectly upstanding, if abrasive and annoying, police officer.”

“That’s true,” Ron admitted, ignoring Harry’s glance towards him, “but so far, the people you’ve met have been pretty similar to their counterparts in your world, haven’t they?”

“Not identical. Not enough to condemn a man for it,” she replied with a glance towards Harry.

Ron’s friend scoffed. “Really? You trusted us because of them, didn’t you? That’s why you revealed your secret.”

“I revealed my secret because it was the only way to save Ron!” she retorted.

“You called me Ron,” Ron pointed out. She also did it when she had that nightmare, he recalled.

“A slip of the tongue,” she said, then took a deep breath. “Yes, the similarities are striking, but there are differences.”

“We’re older than the people you knew,” Ron said. “And we’ve had different experiences.”

“Exactly!” She nodded, a faint smile on her face. “And your Riddle died in 1985. The one in my world survived. That’s a huge difference.”

Harry scoffed again. “Yaxley’s old enough to have been turned before that. People suspected that there was a mole in CI5 who fed Riddle information that allowed him to evade the police.”

“But if it was Riddle who turned him, then who would be able to call on him now?” Granger asked.

“Some of his supporters and fellow terrorists were never caught,” Ron said.

“But would he have trusted anyone with such information?” she replied, shaking her head as she answered her own question.

“That’s based on your knowledge of his counterpart, isn’t it?” Harry asked with a hint of a smirk.

“Yes,” she spat.

“And it fits our profiles of Riddle,” Harry told her.

“Which means that it’s unlikely that Yaxley is working with or for someone who was with Riddle.” She sniffed.

“Unlikely doesn’t mean impossible,” Harry said. “And it certainly isn’t Dawlish. The man’s too stupid for this. That doesn’t leave many others of the proper age and position.”

“In any case, we have to assume there is a highly-placed traitor in CI5,” Ron cut in. “Which means, as we said before, we cannot trust anyone. We have to stay on our own until the mole’s found.”

“Which will make you appear suspicious,” Granger pointed out.

“And you as well,” Harry retorted. “You were present at both assassinations.”

“And if it’s Yaxley,” Ron added, “he might try to use this to get you.”

“Britain’s most wanted,” Granger muttered, “once again.”

Ron tried to cheer her up. “It won’t be for long. Moody’s going to find the mole sooner rather than later.”

“Unless he’s coming after you because he thinks you’ve turned traitor,” she retorted.

“He wouldn’t!” Harry replied, glaring at her. “He trusts us.”

“Does he trust anyone?” Granger glared back at him.

“Didn’t you tell us that we can’t assume everyone’s like their counterpart?”

“Please!” Ron raised his voice. “Arguing about that won’t help our situation. We have to decide what we do now.”

“How safe is this house?” Granger asked. “Can we stay here while this whole mess is sorted out?”

“No one but us and Sirius know about it,” Harry replied.

“And can Sirius be trusted not to rush over here as soon as he hears about the whole thing?”

While Harry clenched his teeth and didn’t answer, Ron made a note of another hint that people and their counterparts in Granger’s world were very similar - she certainly knew Sirius’s likely reaction well.

“I guess that means we’ll have to leave,” Granger said with a sigh.

“I’ll send him a mail - through a secure account,” Harry told them, standing up.

“Let’s hope he’ll listen,” Ron heard Granger mutter as Harry left the room. He hoped Harry hadn’t heard her.

“We really can’t assume everything’s the same,” Granger told him as soon as the door closed behind Ron’s friend.

“We can’t trust people just because you trusted their counterparts,” he replied, “but there’s nothing wrong with being suspicious of people whose counterparts were your enemies.”

She pressed her lips together but didn’t contradict him. He took that as acknowledgment of his point.

*****

Ron found Harry in the kitchen, doing the dishes. “Sirius should have bought a dishwasher,” he commented.

Harry snorted. “It wasn’t as if he actually cooked back in the seventies. Not that he’s cooking anything nowadays, either.”

Because Harry’s godfather had hired a housekeeper as soon as he had inherited his family’s fortune and ancestral home. It must be nice to be rich, Ron thought, then pushed the thought away. He was better than that. Money had been tight growing up, as one of seven kids with only Dad’s salary, but now that every one of Ron’s siblings was earning their own money, Mum and Dad could afford a lot. And Mum was a far better cook than Sirius’s housekeeper, anyway.

Ron leaned against the counter next to him. “Granger gave me a list of all her enemies in her world.” He should have asked about a list of her friends as well, but… you couldn’t trust someone because of their counterpart’s actions.

“Must be a huge number, what with her charming personality,” Harry replied, not looking up from the pan he was scrubbing.

Ron rolled his eyes. “You weren’t exactly acting like Prince Charming, either,” he pointed out. “Of course, Ginny would kill you if you had been.” His little sister had a stereotypical redhead’s temper. Fortunately, she had chosen tennis instead of, say, kickboxing. 

Harry snorted at that but still didn’t look up.

“Is that why you’re so… cranky? Are you missing Ginny?”

“I'm not ‘cranky’,” Harry replied, glaring at him. “I’m just not trying to get into Granger’s pants.”

"Please try to be a little more original,” Ron told him. “And don’t tell me that it’s about her keeping secrets. You knew she wasn’t telling us the truth before, but now that she’s spilt her guts, you’re still mad at her.”

Harry glared at him, but Ron didn’t flinch until his friend sighed. “Magic. Mind-controlling magic. Who knows what she can do? Or has done? It was different when we were guarding a boffin, but a witch? What if she thinks she knows best and makes us agree?”

“If she could do such a thing, or would do it, wouldn’t she have done it already?”

“She might have,” Harry retorted with a frown. “We can’t tell what can be done with magic, and what can’t. Most of our training is useless in the face of magic.”

Ah. Ron nodded. That explained Harry’s attitude - they couldn’t trust their training as they had before. Not in the face of such a revelation.

“But there’s more,” Harry went on. “She knows our counterparts. She probably knows stuff we haven’t even told each other. Don’t tell me that you’re alright with that!”

He wasn’t. But she had saved his life. And Ron didn’t think she meant them any harm. “If she knows too much, it isn’t her fault. Blame our counterparts. Anyway, here’s the list.” He unfolded the list and held it up so Harry, whose hands were wet, could read it.

“Malfoy… all three of them, actually. Travers. Yaxley. Dolohov. All three Lestranges.” Harry tensed, as Ron had known he would, but didn’t comment. “Crabbe. Goyle. Crouch. Avery. Jugson. Carrow. Carrow. Rookwood. Pettigrew.” He scoffed. “That’s no surprise. Umbridge?” Harry blinked. “Isn’t that the woman Arthur keeps complaining about?”

“Yes."

“Her counterpart is a magical terrorist?”

“Was,” Ron told him. “The names with an asterisk are dead. And she wasn’t a terrorist but an eager genocidal bureaucrat, according to Granger.”

Harry whistled. “That’s a lot of dead people.”

Ron nodded. He glanced over his shoulder, then added: “And Granger was involved with a number of the deaths.” Which was both worrying and reassuring. And he couldn’t, yet, say which feeling was dominating. Or should.

“Did she tell you that?” 

“No. But her reactions were telling,” Ron told him. She had been ‘lost in thought’ a few times as well. “Anyway - it’s a long list.”

“And some of the names don’t ring any bells,” Harry pointed out. “Fenrir Greyback?”

Ron shrugged. “A werewolf, or so I was told.”

“Werewolves. What’s next, vampires?” Harry asked with a snort.

“There’s a market for blood pops made with real blood in Granger’s world,” Ron replied with a wry grin.

Harry sighed as he shook his head. “This is weirder than one of your stupid movies.”

“They’re not stupid,” Ron replied out of habit. “They just don’t have the budget for their special effects. And it doesn’t matter. We’ve got a list of suspects now.”

“And no proof.”

“That’s what Granger kept saying,” Ron said, then smirked when he saw his friend clench his teeth. “What did Sirius tell you?”

“He hasn’t answered my mail, yet,” Harry replied. “I told him not to do anything stupid, though.”

Ron hoped that Sirius would listen - combat experience in the Guards didn’t make you a police officer. And he had been a tank commander, not exactly SAS material. Though he had had some experience in Ulster…

“He’ll listen,” Harry said as if he had read Ron’s thoughts. 

Ron nodded. Sirius still blamed himself for the death of the Potters, after all. On the other hand, if he thought Harry was in danger, he’d rush in no matter what. “So…”

Harry held up a hand, and Ron heard his cell phone vibrate. “Message from Sirius,” his friend said. He wiped his hands, then checked - and cursed. “They’re looking for us. As suspects.”

Damn.

Ron had expected that this would happen - the traitor would frame them to try to protect himself - but it was still a shock. What would Mum and Dad think? His brothers? Ginny, of course, would never believe it. But Percy? Bill? “Well, we didn’t plan to show our faces in public anyway,” he said. It wouldn’t do to appear actually worried.

“Feh.” Harry frowned.

“And we don’t need to buy food - Granger has enough to last two lifetimes,” Ron added.

“That’s not food,” Harry complained. “That stuff makes spam taste good in comparison.”

“I like Mum’s spam recipe,” Ron said. Times had been lean in his childhood, and they had eaten spam quite a lot.

“Let’s tell Granger.”

They found her in the living room, where she was watching TV. Ron saw pictures of Scrimgeour and Bones on the screen as well as Granger’s and swallowed his joke about mindless entertainment.

“They’ve been talking about the murders non-stop since I switched the telly on,” Granger said. “And they speculate about whether I was kidnapped, killed or brainwashed into becoming a murderer.”

“The BBC?” Ron couldn’t imagine the news going that far.

“No, not the BBC,” Granger admitted. “But the rest of the channels.” She sniffed. “I expect them to mention your past at any moment,” she said with a glance at Harry.

Harry muttered another curse in response.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, “but we’ll have to expect it and prepare accordingly.”

"Prepare for what?” Harry asked.

“With so much attention from the media, everyone will recognise us,” she replied. “We won’t be able to set foot outside without a disguise.”

“We don’t have to go out,” Ron pointed out. “We can stay here for months if need be.”

“Are you suggesting that we should hide here until someone catches the traitor?” she asked with a frown.

“No,” Ron said. Granger and Harry would drive each other crazy. “But we don’t have to go out right now. We can wait until the next celebrity scandal breaks.” Or until Yaxley was arrested.

“I need a dependable base for my experiments. And an inconspicuous source of power,” she told them.

“You’ll have to do without,” Harry replied. “Suddenly using far more power than normal would betray our presence.”

“I can’t do research without power.”

“You can’t do research if you’re dead, either.”

Ron shook his head. “You can’t do research as long as someone is willing to hire mercenaries and criminals to hunt you down. Until the traitor’s backer is found, you’re stuck.”

Her expression told him that she loathed their situation - but it couldn’t be helped.

“We can go through your list,” Harry said. “It’s not as if we have any better leads.”

“Just because their counterparts…” Granger started.

Harry cut her off. “...yes, yes, we can’t condemn anyone for what their counterpart did. But,” he went on with a grin, “we can investigate them.”

“While we’re Britain’s most wanted?” she retorted.

“Yes.” Harry nodded. “I’m not going to hide and wait for someone to solve my problems for me.”

Granger shook her head at that. “That’s familiar,” she commented with a rather sad smile as she stood. “I’m going to bed.”

Ron wasn’t sure if he should be glad or concerned about Harry glowering at her as she passed.

He sighed. “Let’s go over the list and make some plans.”

Harry agreed after a moment. “Too bad we don’t know if we killed some of them already in the park.”

Ron hadn’t actually done any killing, but it was nice of Harry to include him. Probably. 

“So… her Malfoy was best friends with Crabbe and Goyle?” Harry asked after looking at the list again.

“They way she described it, they were his minions,” Ron corrected him.

“Hm. Our Malfoy would have loved minions to do his bidding. What are the chances that he hired some thugs? He couldn’t rely on his dad all the time.” Harry rubbed his chin. “And we know he had some shady contacts.”

“It’s quite a step to go from buying marijuana to hiring hitmen,” Ron pointed out.

“Malfoy might have hired them as thugs, to beat up his ‘rivals’,” Harry replied. “Remember when he tried to send the rugby team after us?”

“Oh, yes!” Ron chuckled. Malfoy’s dad must have spent a lot of money to smooth things over so his son wouldn’t be expelled.

“Or perhaps he needed bodyguards to keep Parkinson away,” Harry joked, then blinked. “Damn.”

“What?” Ron asked.

“I just had a thought,” Harry replied. “This was Sirius’s bachelor pad in the seventies.”

“Yes. And he bought it under a fake name.”

“He did. But how many women did he invite over? And how many of them might remember the flat?”

Ron frowned. “How many of them would make the connection to us? You weren’t even born when he started using it.”

“No. But he was over the moon when he was made godfather,” Harry said. “He would have told his girlfriends. And all it takes is for one woman to remember.”

Ron sighed. “Who gets to tell Granger that we have to move again?”

“You. She’s less likely to turn you into a newt,” Harry replied with a grin.

Ron frowned, but his friend was probably correct.

*****

“I should have thought of that. It’s obvious in hindsight.”

Granger took the news better than Ron had expected. And worse, in a way. “Don’t blame yourself. What would your therapist say?”

“This is different. I should’ve known better,” Granger replied. “I’ve been hunted before.”

“By wizards.”

She snorted as she slid out of bed. “Wizards who could easily mind-control police officers and order them to hunt us as well. Hiding out in muggle hotels didn’t work out well for us. If the police hadn’t tried to arrest us before the Death Eaters found out...”

He didn’t look at her legs as she grabbed the jeans from Frankie’s. Not overly long, at least. “How easy is magical mind control?” he asked, trying not to show how disturbing he found the subject.

“It depends on what method you use, but it’s generally quite easy. Obliviation - erasing someone’s memories - is very common. It’s how the Statue of Secrecy is enforced. Then there’s the False Memory Charm, which allows you to implant artificial memories in someone’s mind. It’s far harder to use - you have to take great care to construct memories if you want them to influence the target. But done right, you can give someone an entirely new personality or set of goals.”

Ron was aghast. That sounded… like Total Recall. “Is that what your enemies were doing?”

She shook her head, then pulled her hair back and put it into a bushy ponytail. “No. They usually stuck to the Imperius Curse.” Looking at him, she added: “It’s basically an order you can’t refuse and want to execute. Casting the spell on a human earns you a life sentence in Azkaban. That’s a prison in the North Sea staffed by monsters. Most inmates lose their sanity within a few years.”

He wanted to ask her why she was so determined to return to that. The way she’d worded it, that prison wasn’t new. On the other hand, her family and friends were there. And her magic wand. Although… she had spoken as if she had personal experience with those spells. “Did you use them yourself?”

“What?” She turned to him, shirt in hand, teeth bared.

“Not the Imperius, the others, I mean,” he was quick to explain.

“Oh.” She sighed. “I considered it. Quite thoroughly. The False Memory Charm, that is. Obliviating enemies was pretty standard. And witnesses - wouldn’t want to endanger the Statute of Secrecy.” She scoffed.

She had mentioned that before. “Keeping magic a secret is of such importance?”

“It’s pretty much the only thing all wizarding countries agree upon. Breaking it is the worst crime you could commit. Far worse than massacring a few dozen muggles,” she added in a bitter tone.

He had the distinct impression that wasn’t a hypothetical example. “Worse than using the Imperius Curse?”

She pulled her shoes on. “Yes.”

“Does that mean you’ll have to obliviate Harry and me?” he asked before he could stop himself.

She looked startled for a moment. “No. Your world has no magic. There’s no Statute here.” Frowning, she went on: “Of course, some of the bigots would still claim this was breaking the Statute of Secrecy. They invented bogus charges of ‘stealing magic’ to justify their murders.”

“And you _want_ to return there?”

“I have to. I left my friends.”

Friends who might be - were, probably - dead by now. But he knew better than to point that out. Judging by her expression, she was already aware that she might be returning to avenge, rather than help, them.

“So, where are we going?” she asked, grabbing her bag. “Do you have another safe house prepared?”

He chuckled, ruefully. “I wish.” Moody would tell them that they weren’t vigilant enough after this mess was sorted out. “No, we’ll visit a friend of mine,” he said with a smile.

“A friend?”

He nodded. “A good friend. She won’t betray us.”

She had an odd expression, he noticed. “Who is she?”

“Luna. Luna Lovegood.” She looked rather incredulous, so he added, slightly annoyed: “It’s an old and perfectly fine name.”

“No, no.” She shook her head. “It’s not that. Does her family live next to yours?”

Ron blinked, then groaned. “You knew her counterpart as well?”

“We went to the same school.”

Ron shook his head. This was eerie. What else did she know? “Ah… were we involved?”

“What? Us? I mean, your counterpart and I?”

“No, I mean my counterpart and Luna’s,” he explained.

“Oh. No, not to my knowledge. And I’ve known Ron since he was eleven.”

Good. So not everything was the same.

“Is she a cryptozoologist? Hunting Nessie?”

He laughed. “No, no. She’s no cryptozoologist.”

*****

**Near Savernake Forest, Wiltshire, Britain, July 10th, 2005**

“Luna lives here?” Granger asked before Harry had even stopped the car. “It’s a barn! And a broken-down one, at that!”

“It merely looks like a barn,” Ron replied as he got out of the car.

“It smells like a barn, too,” Granger remarked.

“Luna’s very thorough,” Ron said.

“Thorough?”

“Yes,” Harry replied, still behind the wheel. “Even Moody would be impressed.”

“That’s not really reassuring…” Granger trailed off. “Wait…”

But Ron had already reached the big gate, pulling it open for Harry to drive the car inside before closing it behind them.

The inside looked as it should - full of the derelict remains of a failed farm, with barely enough space left free for a vehicle to park, the only light provided by their car.

“It is a barn. And Luna doesn’t live here,” Granger stated as she climbed out of the car.

“Right.” Ron nodded, slightly disappointed that she had seen through the small deception already. “Moody was the clue, huh?”

“Unless you deliberately wanted to mislead me, it means that Luna’s paranoid. Which means she’d never let you drive up to her real home,” she replied, shaking her head as she looked around.

Then the entire barn was plunged into darkness as Harry switched the lights off. Granger didn’t comment, though, not until Ron had pulled out his flashlight to show her the way to the side exit.

“Couldn’t someone spot the light?” she asked as she made her way towards Ron.

“The barn doesn’t let any light out,” Ron told her. He had helped Luna fix it that way over one summer.

“Ah. And the side exit leads to a secret tunnel?”

Harry scoffed. “Don’t be daft - that’d mean you’d have a direct lead to her home from here.”

Ron couldn’t see Granger’s face, not without being obvious about it and shining his flashlight in her direction, but he was certain that she was pursing her lips at Harry’s comment. “And traipsing through the countryside won’t lead any pursuers to her?” she retorted in a cold tone.

“No. Not with the route we’re taking,” Ron told her as Harry handed him his set of night vision goggles. “We’ll be moving through the underbrush for most of the distance.”

“We’ve only got two sets, sorry,” Harry said. He almost sounded sincere.

“Great. I missed stumbling through a dark forest so much,” he heard her mutter.

“Just hold my hand, I’ll guide you,” Ron offered.

“No need. I’ve got my own.” 

“You do? Of course you do.” Ron shook his head as she pulled out a set of night vision goggles - a Russian model, Ron recognised the type - from her bag.

Luna would love her. Probably.

*****

Granger definitely wasn’t at home in the woods. Even with night vision goggles, she had trouble navigating the forest. At least Ron assumed her repeated, whispered queries about whether or not they were lost indicated that she was lost. And she didn’t have an easy time marching, either.

But they had made it to Luna’s hideout anyway, if later than planned. It was still the middle of the night, though, and so Luna wouldn’t be mad at them. 

“That’s her real fake barn?” Granger asked, staring past him at the back of a decrepit-looking wooden building. “Oh God, I’m more tired than I thought to be saying that.”

“Yes,” Ron told her with a grin.

She huffed. “So… do we go and knock?”

“In a way.” Ron took a deep breath and stepped closer to the back of the barn, looking for the slightly loose plank. Luna tended to move it around… ah, there. He pulled it back a little and stuck his finger inside, moving it until he felt the cool metal of the fingerprint scanner.

A moment later, part of the wall swung open, revealing a narrow space with a hatch in the floor, barely big enough for one person to step inside - and needing to duck their heads if they weren’t on the short side. He did so and opened the hatch, then pointed at the spiral staircase leading down. “Here we are.”

He quickly descended the stairs until he reached the steel door at the bottom, where he smiled up at the camera. “Hi, Luna! It’s me, Ron!”

The door didn’t open.

After a few seconds, he heard her voice - digitally altered. “Password?”

“Swordfish.”

The steel door started to swing open.

“Swordfish?” Granger asked behind him.

“A movie starring John Travolta,” Ron explained. 

“Ah.”

It was also one of the movies he had watched with Luna when they had been dating, but she wouldn’t know that. And he wouldn’t tell her. It was none of her business.

He stepped through the airlock - at least Luna wasn’t running her NBC protocol - and into the hallway - or entrance hall, as Luna called it. And there she was - dressed in one of her ‘ironic’ T-shirts and baggy jeans with ballet flats. Not one of her weirder looks, this time.

“Ron!” She hugged him. “I told you the shadow men behind the government would hunt you down one day! I told you!”

“It’s not quite…” he tried to explain.

“Fortunately, I’ve been preparing for this eventuality! This bunker is shielded against all the ways they could use to track you! They won’t get you!” He felt her nodding - her chin repeatedly dug into his shoulder. “And neither will they get Harry and…” She tensed in his arms. “Blessed Mother Goddess!”

He turned his head, with some difficulty, and noticed she was staring at Granger. “Ah, Luna, this is…”

“An alien! You brought an alien here!”

“I’m not an alien!” Granger protested at once.

“You’re Hermione Granger. Kidnapped at the age of eleven. Found seven years later, with amnesia. Identified through DNA testing and reunited with her parents. Proceeded to complete her missing secondary schooling in record time despite her history, then went on to study quantum physics, becoming a researcher after earning her doctorate,” Luna stated, without releasing Ron. “Claimed her research was purely theoretical, yet found herself the target of multiple kidnapping attempts by an unknown yet clearly powerful secret organisation.” She sniffed. “It’s obvious that you’ve assumed the identity of the real Hermione Granger who was conveniently killed years ago before your arrival on Earth in order to gain the resources needed to return to your home planet. But the secret global anti-alien forces have seen through your deceptions and are now trying to arrest you without revealing that aliens exist!”

Ron managed to turn his head far enough to see Granger. She was staring at Luna, speechless.

And then Harry laughed.

“That’s ridiculous!” Granger snapped. “I’m not an alien!”

“Of course you’d say that!” Luna retorted. “But how else can you explain the countless inconsistencies in your life? If you aren’t a member of an alien species whose technology is far in advance of our own, how would you have managed to research something for which people are willing to murder senior police officers? After missing seven years of your secondary education?” She finally released Ron and took a step towards Granger, pointing her right index finger at her. “You might have fooled the Grangers, and you might have fooled the government - although the government may have been on to you from the start, and just let you believe you succeeded in fooling them so they could reap the results of your research for their own secret weapon programs. But you haven’t fooled me!”

“Wha…” Granger blinked. “That makes no sense!”

“On the contrary! It makes perfect sense!” Luna shook her head wildly. “But you’ve made a fatal mistake! You dared to attack my friends!”

Uh oh. Ron grimaced. Luna was what Mum called a gentle soul, and she was a lovely, if eccentric, girl, but if she thought someone was threatening her few, very few, friends… “Luna, she’s not an alien.”

“I know you have to say that.”

“No, I mean, we know the truth. And she’s not an alien. She’s human. Although you’re correct in that she isn’t the original Hermione Granger.” Ron stepped between Luna and Granger. Just in case his ex-girlfriend hadn’t been joking about the anti-authoritarian thug counter-measures she wanted to install in the ceiling.

Luna blinked. “She’s human, but she managed to fool a DNA test? She’s a clone!” She clapped her hands together. “The government has been cloning promising people for their shadow research think tanks! I knew it!” She slid around Ron and peered at Granger. “How old are you? Historically, I mean. Biologically, you’ve obviously been subjected to an accelerated growth treatment.”

“I’m twenty-six years old! I’m not a clone!” Granger insisted.

“Are you sure?” Harry cut in, still chuckling.

She glared at him, then at Ron, as if this was his fault. Well, he should have expected this, Ron guessed. “She’s not a clone.”

“I’m Hermione Granger, a witch from a parallel Earth,” Granger spat. “I ended up here due to a magical accident, and I was misidentified as this world’s Hermione Granger.”

“A witch?” Luna frowned. “A magical accident?”

“Yes.” Granger held her hand out towards a small tobacco box on the shelf behind Luna and snapped: “Accio box!”

A moment later, the box flew towards her outstretched hand, and, from hidden speakers, Luna’s voice yelled: “Alert! Alert! Smoker intruder! Alert!” - loudly enough to hurt Ron’s ears.

*****

_She heard the loud, very loud, sound of a gong being rung and knew she had made a fatal mistake. She hadn’t disabled all the alarms, and now the enemy knew that there were intruders on the premises._

_“We need to go!” Harry hissed, jumping to his feet._

_But they were so close. And Voldemort… he was supposed to be busy dealing with the diversionary attacks while they broke into the manor._

_“Come on!” Ron yelled, grabbing her shoulder. “We’ve failed! We need to leave!”_

_No, she had failed. All those Order members risking their lives, and she had let them down. Their chance to get the Horcrux, lost. She shook her head, forcing back tears, as she ran towards the wardline, casting a Disillusionment Charm almost without thinking. Fifty yards until they could apparate to safety._

_They cleared the gardens. Forty yards._

_Halfway through the open ground. Thirty yards._

_Twenty yards. Almost._

_The hedgerow in front of them blew up. She barely saw the Blasting Curse before she was thrown to the ground. She rolled over the lawn - her Shield Charm had held - as a cloud of dust started to settle and chunks of earth and roots rained down on her. Harry! Ron!_

_She looked around, pointing her wand in every direction, as she tried to find her friends. The cloud still concealed everyone and everything, but it would thin out on top first, and her Human-presence-revealing Charm would show.…_

_Half a dozen markers became visible between her and the wardline - and she couldn’t yet tell who among them were Harry and Ron, and who would be Death Eaters._

_She - belatedly - dashed towards the wardline. At an angle, away from the Death Eaters. If she could get out and flank them..._

_She saw a flash right in front of her, then she was flying through the air - another Blasting Curse, she realised, right before everything went dark._

_*****_


	7. The Old Flame

**Near Savernake Forest, Wiltshire, Britain, July 10th, 2005**

Granger was blinking rapidly. Flashback, Ron realised - he was starting to recognise the signs. “Luna, turn it off!” he said - a little more sharply than he intended.

“What?”

“Turn it off!” he repeated himself, a little more loudly. Granger was pressing her hands on her ears, and Ron wished he had some ear protection.

Luna left the hallway, and, a moment later, the shouting stopped. She returned and asked: “What did you say?”

“I wanted you to turn off the alarm,” Ron said for the third time.

“Ah.”

Granger was still breathing heavily, but she seemed to recover as Ron watched. “Merlin’s beard! What was that?” she spat, glaring at Luna.

“My intruder alarm, of course. That is, my back-up intruder alarm.”

“You linked an alarm to a tobacco box on a shelf?” Granger sounded incredulous. Again.

“Of course! Everyone knows that members and minions of the shadow government are often heavy smokers - not only are they stressed from trying to oppress the masses and keep their machinations secret, they can also camouflage themselves in clouds of smoke, you know! And members of the shadow government are corrupt and, therefore, greedy, so they wouldn’t be able to resist a genuine eighteenth-century vintage tobacco box! And, finally, minions of the shadow government are trained to search for your most private secrets, so they would look through the box for hidden documents such as your diary!” Luna beamed at Granger. “It’s effective on three levels! And, as you’ve proven, it works on dimension-travelling witches, too! If you’re actually a witch.”

“I am a witch,” Granger said through clenched teeth. “You just saw me levitate a tobacco box with magic!”

“That could’ve been a directed beam of gravity-reversing energy. Or a psionic burst. A Timelord certainly would be able to fake magic thanks to their hyper-advanced technology,” Luna retorted.

“I’m not a Timelord. And Dr Who is a fictional TV series,” Granger replied.

“Ah, that’s what they want you to think! It’s actually the perfect cover - any time the aliens make a mistake, the government can claim it’s just part of a new episode of Dr Who. That’s why they restarted the series, you know - they tried to save money in the 80s and 90s, but when the Cold War ended, the budget of the secret service was cut, and that also reduced the budget for covering up alien activities, so they had to restart the series.”

This time, Ron was sure that Granger wasn’t experiencing a flashback - she was just left speechless and blinking by Luna’s theories. Not unlike Percy that time Luna had tried to interrogate him after he had started working for the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. That had been an amusing family dinner.

“But…” Granger shook her head. “I told you that I’m not an alien!”

“Even if you are telling the truth, that doesn’t mean that there aren’t any aliens.” Luna sniffed. “As a scientist, you should be aware of that!”

“What?” 

Uh oh. Granger was getting mad. Ron cleared his throat. “Anyway - as you know, we’re being hunted by the police. Can we hide here until the real murderer has been found?”

“Of course!” Luna beamed at him. “This is a refuge for any innocent victim of the government!” She frowned and peered at Granger. “You are innocent, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am!” 

“She was actually fighting a fascist wizard government in her home dimension when she was transported here in a magical accident,” Ron added.

“What? Oh, Mother Goddess! Is that true?” Luna quickly closed with Granger and grabbed her hands. “You’re a refugee from an oppressive, fascist government?”

Granger blinked, but, apparently, her desire to lecture won out over her indignation. “In a way. The politics in Wizarding Britain do not align perfectly with the politics of this world - or the muggle parts of my home. That means the magic-less parts. But the government was quite bigoted towards those who weren’t born to wizards and witches, favouring the so-called purebloods even before the Dark Lord took over. He didn’t take over openly, though. Instead, he mind-controlled the Minister and had his followers and sympathisers take control of the Ministry - the wizarding government - to persecute the muggleborns like me. As a minority and relative newcomers to Wizarding Britain, we were the perfect scapegoats. So, I don’t think it’s entirely incorrect to call his movement fascist, although it’s not entirely correct either.”

“A government controlled from the shadows using mind control! Persecuting minorities to distract the mindless population from their own situation! Did you have a voice of freedom spreading the truth for those who would listen, too?”

“Well… actually, yes. There was a pirate wireless station, and The Quibbler,” Granger replied. She looked wary now - or again.

“Oh, I knew it!” And Luna lunged, hugging Granger. Hard. “A sister-in-arms! A transdimensional comrade! Be welcome in my abode!”

Ron couldn’t tell if Granger’s open mouth was due to shock or lack of air - Luna was stronger than her waif-like appearance suggested, and she was as passionate when hugging as she was in everything else that she did.

But what was important was that she had welcomed them. They’d be safe here.

*****

“...and an entire world - the Wizarding World - is hidden from the general, non-magic population? Thanks to magical mind control?” Luna shook her head. “Could this world have such a hidden world as well? Full of witches, wizards and dragons?”

“There isn’t. I checked thoroughly,” Granger said.

“Too bad. But in your world, no one knows about this ‘Statute of Secrecy’?” Luna leaned forward, licking her lips, almost pushing the table back as she did so.

“Ah… close family members of muggleborn wizards and witches are allowed to know about magic.” Granger looked taken aback by Luna’s enthusiasm. Ron could understand the feeling, of course - Luna could be scary when she got excited. Well, excited in the wrong way.

“Oh. And how do the wizards keep them from spilling the secret?”

“Well, it’s illegal, for one thing. And who would believe them if they claimed magic existed?”

Luna would, of course, Ron thought.

“No implanted magical compulsions to keep quiet? Constant surveillance of everyone in the know? No threats to their loved ones? No examples made of random passers-by?” Luna sounded almost disappointed.

“Nothing like that happened before I left.” Granger’s face turned into a scowl. “But with Voldemort in charge, I could see them going after the family members of muggleborns if only to prevent the birth of more muggleborns.”

“Oh!” Luna gasped. “Your parents are in danger?”

Granger winced but shook her head. “They were already in danger for being my parents. I was one of Harry’s - my Harry’s - best friends. Harry, Ron and I were the country’s Undesirables Numbers One, Two and Three. So we took precautions when Voldemort regained a body.”

Luna almost looked envious, Ron noticed. “You were public enemy number three?”

“Two, actually. I was deemed the greater danger than Ron.”

“Oh! Because you were a witch and challenged their oppressive patriarchy?”

“What? No. It was because I’m a muggleborn witch while Ron’s a pureblood wizard. I didn’t deserve magic according to their ideology, so me being better at it than anyone else at school meant I challenged their stupid prejudices in ways Ron couldn’t.”

And Ron bet that Granger didn’t exactly hide her talents, either. Quite the contrary.

“That doesn’t make much sense,” Luna replied, pouting.

“Of course it doesn’t! The Death Eaters and their supporters are small-minded, ignorant bigots,” Granger spat.

“Like our government!” Luna nodded rapidly. 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Granger replied.

“Of course you wouldn’t. But you haven’t grown up here. As a visitor, and from an openly fascist dictatorship, you would have missed the secret cabal ruling the country.” Luna frowned at Ron and Harry, although Ron’s friend didn’t notice - or acted as if he didn’t - since he was reading Luna’s latest ‘Underground Newsletter’. “Even some people who grew up in Britain and, as trained police officers, should really see through such cover-ups, won’t accept the truth.”

“Ah…” Granger looked - not for the first time - lost.

Ron shrugged. “As police officers, we need evidence before we act.”

“Hard evidence,” Harry added.

Luna huffed. “And that’s why you’re now being hunted by the forces of the shadow government! If you had arrested them beforehand, they wouldn’t be able to do this now!”

It was an old argument, but after Bones and Scrimgeour’s deaths, it stung a lot more. “We have a suspect, at least,” Ron said. “Corban Yaxley. He’s…”

“...a high-ranking member of the CI5. Your own department!” Luna frowned at him. “How did he manage to fool you?”

“He probably didn’t do anything criminal or even suspicious for a long time,” Granger cut in. “That’s what his counterpart in my world did.”

“Oh!” Luna’s head instantly turned to stare at Granger. “The similarities are so significant, you can use knowledge of one person to judge their counterpart?”

“Not exactly,” Granger was quick to reply. “Our worlds differ greatly. At best, it provides hints or suspicions for further investigation.”

“Oh! And you encountered Yaxley?”

Granger pressed her lips together before answering. “Yes.”

To Ron’s relief, Luna didn’t ignore the hint and didn’t pry. Instead, she said: “Oh! Did you meet my counterpart as well?”

“Yes.” After a moment, she added: “We went to school together. She’s a witch.”

“Oh! Tell me about her! Is she fighting the fascists as well?”

“Yes, although she does it by helping her father publish his underground newspaper, The Quibbler, to oppose the enemy propaganda,” Granger explained.

Luna clapped her hands together and squeed. “Just like me! Were we - I mean, your Luna and you - friends?”

“Yes,” Granger answered. She didn’t seem to be lying, Ron noticed. “Very good friends,” Granger added.

“Oh! Were we involved? With each other, I mean?”

“What? No. No.” Granger shook her head. “But we were part of the, well, the resistance movement. Part of the core - of the new generation, at least.” She had a smile on her face, but it looked rather sad. Ron almost reached out to pat her hand, but Luna was already moving to hug her.

“I’ll replace my counterpart as your friend until you can return to your world!”

Well, Ron hadn’t expected that. But, in hindsight, he should have.

*****

“And here’re the guest quarters!” Luna announced half an hour later, after she had finally picked up on Ron and Harry’s hints that they hadn’t slept for nearly twenty-four hours. She was a lovely woman, but she sometimes lost sight of the fact that not everyone shared her sleep cycle.“They’re not the most luxurious, but they’re the safest rooms in Britain!” She proudly spread her arms as she turned around and waved at the bunk beds lining the walls.

“Thank you,” Granger said, already eyeing the closest bed.

“Ah… you don’t need a special diet, and you aren’t allergic to our food, are you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Granger told her, sitting down on the bed to remove her shoes. “Thank you,” she said again with a tired smile.

“She eats MREs to save time,” Harry added with a smirk.

“Really? Is that a parallel development or did wizards and witches copy them? And why are you doing that? Is magic unable to make food?”

“I stocked up here,” Granger explained, “in case I had to hide for a length of time without being able to resupply.”

Luna beamed at her. “Great minds think alike! I’ve got my own stock, so you’ll be able to enjoy familiar meals here!”

Granger managed to keep smiling, but Ron spotted her fingers slip and freeze as she was undoing her shoelaces. He smirked and, for a moment, considered letting Luna feed Granger nothing but rations. He decided against it, though - Granger was prickly on a good day; he didn’t want to imagine how insufferable she might be if she were forced to eat rations for a week. Well, it certainly would be a sight to see. From afar. So he cleared his throat and spoke up: “I think we should save the rations for emergencies.”

“But isn’t this an emergency?” Luna replied, looking puzzled. “ _The_ emergency, actually - the government is, finally, hunting you!” She shook her head. “And even though I took care not to be predictable, suddenly increasing the amount of food I need would raise a flag which the government’s minions could hardly miss. No, we should stick to rations for safety!”

Ron winced. It was a good argument - at least Moody would think so. And since Moody might be assigned to tracking them, they could hardly argue against such a precaution. No matter how slim the chance that Luna was actually under government surveillance. So he nodded. “Good thinking, Luna.”

She smiled widely at him, which almost made it worth eating MREs for a few days.

Harry and Granger glared at him, though, as soon as Luna had left - as if this were Ron’s fault. “So, ah… goodnight.”

Granger didn’t bother answering - she just slipped under her sheets and turned away from him. And whatever Harry grumbled wasn’t a wish for a restful night.

*****

“You and Luna were involved with each other, weren’t you?”

Granger’s question took Ron by surprise. He glanced at her bunk; she was still under the sheets, but she was looking at him. “Good morning,” he said, smiling - at the impressive bedhead she was sporting, with half her bushy mane plastered to one side of her head and the other half trying its best to point in all directions at once.

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s almost noon.”

He shrugged. “Almost means it’s technically still morning.” Harry was already taking a shower, and Luna was still asleep.

She scoffed. “So, were you and her a couple? You asked if my Ron was involved with her counterpart.”

He had, hadn’t he? Ron nodded. “We parted amicably.”

“So I gathered,” she replied, in a rather wry tone.

He sat up. “I take it her counterpart is different.” Granger had looked a little too shocked to have dealt with Luna before.

She pursed her lips. “There are some parallels. But my… her counterpart wasn’t quite so fixated on conspiracies. That was mainly her father, although she believed his theories without question. No, she and her father focused on Magizoology - they were usually hunting for mythical, and perhaps fictional, magical creatures. Until the war started, at least.”

“Ah.” He nodded and waited.

“Your past won’t be a problem, will it?” she asked.

“We parted amicably,” he repeated himself, wondering why she was asking. “You’ve seen her reaction, haven’t you?”

That made her wince. “She’s a little more enthusiastic than I expected.”

Ron laughed. “Well, you’re pretty much the perfect guest for her. You validate all her beliefs. If a witch from a parallel world can be hiding out in our own, nothing is impossible. It’s probably the happiest day of her life.”

“Is that a good thing?” she asked with a glance at the door.

“Whoever is hunting you has corrupted part of CI5 and sent about a dozen thugs to attack you in broad daylight. Whether Luna’s correct or not about a government conspiracy - I don’t think she is - it’s certainly better to be cautious,” Ron pointed out.

She nodded, although it looked like she was doing it despite herself.

“Was my counterpart in a relationship?” he asked before he could reconsider.

“He dated Lavender Brown for a few months, in our fifth year.” She wasn’t looking at Ron, he noticed.

“You were a couple, weren’t you?”

Her wide-eyed expression as she gaped at him proved that he had guessed correctly.

Swell.

She must have realised that he knew since she sighed. “We were a couple, yes. We shouldn’t have become a couple, of course. Not in the middle of a war. Not with just the three of us in our cell. But…” She slowly shook her head.

“You were teenagers and fighting a war,” Ron finished for her.

That earned him a frown. “Yes,” she said, sounding as if she really didn’t like to admit he was correct. “It’s a completely understandable reaction to the circumstances, of course. Almost a textbook case.”

“You’ve studied psychology?”

“It’s a figure of speech,” she replied. 

He nodded. This was a delicate subject. Touchy, too. ‘So you’ve seen my body naked’ probably wouldn’t go over well.

“Ask,” she snapped. “I know you want to.”

“Ask what?” He tried to play dumb.

She rolled her eyes. “You really think I’ll believe you don’t have a clue? After your Sherlock Holmes act before?”

“Touché.” He shrugged. “Although in my defence, it usually works on people who don’t know me.”

More eye-rolling followed. Well, you couldn’t win them all. 

“So… what’s my counterpart like?” He tried to sound casual, almost whimsical. Just idle curiosity, nothing more.

“He was barely eighteen last time I saw him,” she said. “He’ll have changed in the meantime.” Or died, but Ron wouldn’t mention that. Even though both of them were aware of the possibility. “So I can only tell you what he was like as a teenager.”

“Yes.” That was obvious.

She closed her eyes for a moment. “He was brave. Above all, he was brave. Even as an eleven-year-old, he was braver than most adults. He was always willing to risk his life for his friends and family. Or acquaintances, in some cases,” she added with a sad smile.

Ron was certain that Granger had been among the latter - he knew that expression. And brave? Well, no one had called him a coward. No one but Malfoy, and the git didn’t count.

She took a deep breath. “He wasn’t perfect, of course. He often didn’t think before he said something - or did something. He felt overshadowed by Harry. Probably by me as well. Certainly by his older brothers.”

Ron struggled not to wince. That sounded familiar. Well, until he had helped bring Pettigrew to justice. And who wouldn’t feel overshadowed by Harry?

“Stubborn to a fault, and sometimes too proud to admit a mistake,” she continued to mention his - and the other Ron’s - flaws. “But he was kind, and funny, sometimes very insightful and perceptive. And you wouldn’t find a better friend in all of Britain.”

“Ah.” That was quite the list. “Well, he sounds like a great guy,” he said, using a light tone.

“Yes,” she agreed with a smile.

So Granger was definitely in love with her Ron - Ron knew that kind of smile as well. Even though he might not have seen it as often as he wished. Or appreciated it. “No wonder you want to return at once,” he said, trying to sound optimistic and supportive.

She frowned at him. “I’m well aware that the odds of Ron and Harry being alive aren’t good. And even if they are alive, the chance that Ron didn’t find someone else is very slim.”

Now that sounded a little… He frowned. “They think you’re dead.”

Another flinch. “The circumstances of my leaving would readily lend themselves to such an assumption.”

Which meant Ron was right. But that was another subject he didn’t want to touch. Certainly not right now.

Fortunately, Harry entered their room just then, having finished his shower. Ron wasn’t about to discuss his counterpart’s love life with Granger in Harry’s presence, and he would bet half his salary that Granger didn’t want to either.

Even though Ron really wanted to talk about this.

*****

Half the dining table in Luna’s living room was covered with newspapers when Ron entered her living room. “Hi, Luna.” She was wearing a kimono and fuzzy rabbit slippers today. He couldn’t tell if she was wearing anything underneath.

“Hi, Ron,” she replied without looking up from The Times. “Your ration is the one in the middle.”

Right, rations. He had almost forgotten about that. “Are those today’s newspapers?”

“Certainly not! That would require either a subscription or regular purchases!”

“Ah.” He should have remembered that.

“But the news will soon start on the telly,” she went on, apparently munching on a ration’s main course herself.

He looked at the three screens mounted on the walls in the room. The BBC, CNN and… something in Chinese. “Did you learn Chinese?” he asked.

“No.”

He waited a moment, but she didn’t elaborate. Well, time to tackle the MRE. He checked the label: Chicken w/ Thai Sauce.

“Your favourite,” Luna said. “Well, among the MRE menus available.” She was smiling at him in that sweet way of hers.

He smiled in return. “Thanks.” He didn’t think the meal would be even close to a good Thai takeaway, but it was the thought that counted. 

And he would rather eat a tin of bacon dating back to the Battle of Britain than complain and make Luna feel bad.

Harry arrived a minute later, mumbling a greeting as he craned his neck to look at the newspapers spread out on the table. 

“Yours is the beef steak,” Luna declared before Harry could take a seat.

“Ah, thanks,” Harry said after a glance at Ron. Fortunately, he didn’t try to make an issue out of it.

“Where’s Hermione?”

“Trying to fix her hair,” Harry said. “I think - she was the last in the bathroom.”

“By choice,” Ron quickly said when he saw that Luna was starting to frown. “And she’s not trying to fix her hair,” he added with a frown at Harry. Even her hair wouldn’t be that difficult to pull into a ponytail.

“I like her hair. It’s wild. Untamed,” Luna said.

“What’s untamed?”

Granger had arrived. And she had her hair in a ponytail.

“We were discussing your hair,” Luna blithely told her.

“What?” Granger was narrowing her eyes.

“Harry was speculating that you were ‘trying to fix your hair’,” Ron said. “I told him you weren’t.”

“Yes. And I said I liked your hair.” Luna nodded. 

Granger snorted but smiled at her. “Thanks, but I know it’s a mess.”

“Like nature.”

Ron didn’t think Granger liked that comparison. But the woman - the witch - sat down at the table and grabbed her ration. “Roast beef?”

“I thought it would be the closest to a taste of home,” Luna explained. “The most English of the choices we’ve got available.”

Granger’s smile slipped a little, but she didn’t show any other reaction and even sounded sincere when she thanked Luna. “Thank you.”

“Enjoy your meal!”

“Thank you.”

It wasn’t that bad, actually - at least Ron’s meal wasn’t. Not good either, though. But Luna meant well - even Granger knew it. Of course, she had known Luna’s counterpart.

And Granger ate her meal without any complaint. Ron couldn’t spot even a hint of distaste. Either she was even more stubborn than he had thought or her taste buds were not normal. Which, Ron realised, could be the case since she was a witch.

Before he could ask - and potentially embarrass himself, or her - though, the telly finally switched to the news, and Ron winced as footage of Clissold Park appeared. 

*****

_“...and there is still no news about the fate of Dr Hermione Granger, who was last seen in the company of the two suspects. Dr Granger was kidnapped in 1991 at the age of eleven in one of the most famous criminal cases of recent history. After her escape in 1998, she led a quiet life and studied quantum physics before pursuing a career in research. Speculation that the recent kidnapping attempts were related to her past hasn’t been confirmed by the authorities yet, although many critics of the police point out that at the time of her original kidnapping, rumours claimed that her kidnappers, who were never identified, enjoyed the protection of senior government officials.”_

Ron glanced at Granger. She didn’t show any reaction. Of course, she hadn’t actually been kidnapped for seven years, but still…

_“Harry Potter, one of the two missing police officers suspected of being involved with the shocking murder of two senior police officers, is himself famous as a result of an incident in which he shot a terrorist to death at the age of five. While his age - he is one year younger than Dr Granger - means it’s unlikely that he was involved in her first kidnapping...”_

Harry, though, had just snapped the plastic spoon that had been in his MRE. Ron reached over and clasped his friend’s shoulder.

“They don’t mention that said terrorist killed your parents?” Granger blurted out. “Or that he was trying to kill you? Who wrote that, Skeeter? This isn’t a neutral, objective report!”

Ron could feel Harry grow even tenser and winced.

“The media are controlled by the government,” Luna added. “This is just further proof of that!”

“It’s probably just Yaxley feeding them rumours and slander,” Ron said. “It’ll be corrected soon enough.”

“Yes!” Luna nodded so quickly, her head bobbed up and down. “When we expose the entire conspiracy!”

Ron nodded in agreement - it was clear that there was a conspiracy, even though he didn’t think it involved the government.

The rest of the news report was more speculation - and insinuations about Harry and Ron’s character and suspected motives, dragging up a few incidents from their past and twisting them out of proportion. They hadn’t been _that_ reckless, and, anyway, Smith had had it coming. At least the news stated that the shooting in Clissold Park wasn’t related to the recent arrests of several individuals believed to have been planning a number of bomb attacks on the London public transport system.

“Now this feels like home,” Granger commented with a sneer when the news switched to foreign events. “Biased media and incompetent authorities.”

“And a few brave souls willing to challenge the system!” Luna announced, raising her fist, before Harry or Ron could say anything. “But we could do with a few more allies, I think. Who else was your friend in the other world, Hermione? We could recruit them!”

Granger froze. “You can’t trust someone just because their counterpart was a friend of mine,” she said after a moment.

“Why not? So far, it’s proven to be correct, hasn’t it? Ron, Harry, me…” Luna replied, ticking off a finger with each name.

“That’s not enough data to trust it will hold true. There are fundamental differences between the two worlds, even discounting magic,” Granger said. “For example, Tom Riddle was born almost twenty years earlier in my world than in yours.”

Ron blinked. “A seventy-year-old wizard terrorised Britain?”

“Yes.” Granger looked at him. “Of course, he had made himself a new body, a monstrous thing that looked as if it was part snake, but even if he hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t have been hampered by his age. Not at all.” She looked like she was about to tell them more, but stopped.

Ron leaned forward a little. “Do wizards age more slowly?” Like elves, perhaps?

She hesitated a moment. “They remain active for longer. And the average life expectancy is about twenty to thirty years longer. Provided you don’t get killed.” She looked grim. “Two wars significantly lowered Wizarding Britain’s life expectancy.”

That was a chilling thought. Ron tried to imagine just how many deaths it’d take to do that to Britain.

Luna spoke up again. “Well, a list of your friends back home will still be useful! We can investigate them to check whether they can be trusted!”

Granger didn’t look like she shared Luna’s optimism. “That will be difficult while we’re hiding from whoever is after me.”

“Ron and Harry will manage,” Luna told her, then smiled at Ron. “You will, won’t you?”

He returned her smile. “We’ll do our best.”

“Many of your friends were killed, weren’t they?” Harry spoke up, addressing Granger in a soft voice.

Ron clenched his teeth - he should have realised that - and Luna gasped as Granger pressed her lips together. “A number of my friends and acquaintances were killed in the second war, yes.”

And her two best friends had been fighting a desperate battle when she had been transported to this world, Ron reminded himself.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t think about how painful this might be for you!” Luna blurted out - and went to hug Granger.

In different circumstances, watching Granger awkwardly trying to console an apologising Luna would have been amusing. But not now. Ron cleared his throat. “Shall we finish our meals before they grow cold?” 

It was a weak excuse, but it persuaded Luna to let go of Granger and return to her seat, and for the next few minutes, no one spoke as everyone finished their meals.

“We still need to decide on a course of action and make plans,” Harry said once everyone but Luna, who had already finished her sweet, was nibbling on what passed for pudding in the rations.

“Investigating Malfoy?” Ron asked.

“Without any evidence?” Granger countered.

“It’s better than doing nothing,” Harry, predictably, argued.

“Yes!” Luna chimed in. “And even if the dark secrets of the Malfoys turn out to not be related to the government conspiracy, we’ll still have removed a corrupt and nasty man who would otherwise be a potential member of the shadow government!”

“And it’s not as if the Malfoys haven’t got it coming,” Harry added.

“Settling accounts?” Granger frowned.

“We wouldn’t frame them,” Ron said. “But I’m certain that they have some skeletons in their closet.”

“Why didn’t you investigate him before, then?” Granger crossed her arms.

“Bones forbade it,” Ron told her.

“And you obeyed her?” She sounded doubtful.

“It’s one thing to solve a case by disobeying orders,” Ron said, “but another to go fishing, so to speak.” Bones had made it adamantly clear that she didn’t tolerate those kinds of shenanigans. 

“Ah.”

“But if we can - correctly - claim you were suspicious of the Malfoys, possibly having some flashbacks…” Harry grinned. “Whatever we find, we can use.”

“You’re asking me to lie to the police.” Granger didn’t seem amused.

“Perish the thought!” Harry even clasped a hand to his chest. Sirius’s influence, Ron thought. “Just tell them that you dimly remember the names and seeing them briefly during your captivity.”

Granger’s face looked frozen for a moment. Stiffly, very stiffly, she asked: “Did I talk in my sleep?”

Fuck! Ron glanced at Harry, who looked aghast, then at Luna, whose slightly lost expression was quickly turning to horror as everyone realised that Granger had been captured and tortured by the Malfoys in her world. “Perhaps not the Malfoys,” Ron said hastily.

After a moment, Granger slowly nodded. “You can’t just assume people and things are the same,” she repeated herself. “Apart from magic, my world has several sapient species - trolls, giants, goblins, house-elves, merpeople and centaurs, to name a few. That is bound to change people even if they might look like twins.”

So far, though, things and people had lined up almost perfectly. Ron bit down on his retort. He had made a gaffe already; no need to compound it. Also… house-elves? Were those like high elves?

Fortunately, a beeping noise served as a distraction. “Oh! A priority message!” Luna announced, jumping up.

“Priority message?” Granger asked.

“It’s Daddy!” Luna yelled over her shoulder as she left the room.

Granger looked at Ron. “Is Xenophilius as… security-conscious as Luna?”

“Paranoid, yes,” Harry replied. “And it’s Xenophon, not Xenophilius.”

Ron glared at him. At least, Granger had tried to be diplomatic. Luna was a little quirky, but a great friend. And there was no...

Luna returned. “Ron?” She looked a little concerned. “Your father’s at my daddy’s, asking for a meeting.”

Uh oh.

“Arthur wants to meet us?” Granger asked as they followed Luna to her computer. “Or just Ron?”

Ron made a note that she knew his parents’ counterparts - well, he had already assumed that.

“I don’t know,” Luna replied, “he hasn’t said yet.” She opened the door to her ‘operations room’, as she called it, and Ron saw Granger’s eyes widen at the sight of the hardware installed there. It might be cobbled together from a dozen different machines, but Luna's rig had serious computing power - which she needed, of course, to run her systems. “Look!” She pointed at the screen to the left, where her mail program was open.

Ron read the message as he sat down. It was brief and to the point: _Son, we need to meet. You and your friends._

He started typing. _We have been framed._

_I know._

_Meeting us is dangerous._

_I trust you to take precautions._

“Why does Arthur want to meet us?” Harry asked. “He should know that we’re alright and don’t need help. Or food.”

Ron rolled his eyes. How long would Harry hold that against Mum? “He knows. So this is about something else.”

“Me. He wants to meet me,” Granger said.

“We don’t know that,” Harry pointed out.

Ron shook his head at the sudden role reversal and typed: _Is everything alright?_

_Your mother’s forcing me to contact you. She’s very concerned._

Ron released his breath. “He’s not being forced to do this.” To think Dad’s silly ‘precaution’, straight out of a spy novel, would actually turn out to be useful… Ron had merely been humouring his father when he had proposed such code phrases a few years ago.

“But your family will be under observation,” Harry said. “Not even Dawlish would be too dumb to consider the possibility that we might contact the Weasleys.”

“That’s why he went to Daddy!” Luna said, beaming. “No one can spy on our home!”

“That’s good for communication,” Ron replied. “But he won’t be able to shake off a tail.” Dad wasn’t a trained police officer or spy, after all. And with Bones and Scrimgeour assassinated and several shootouts in London, the police would pull out all the stops to solve the case. Manpower wouldn’t be an issue. _Meeting us is dangerous. We’ll be fine._

_There’s good reason to suspect otherwise._

What? Ron blinked. Dad was a government employee, not a spy or police officer. Why would he say such a thing? He looked at Harry, who seemed equally bewildered. Luna looked intrigued, and Granger was frowning. No help there. _What do you mean?_

_I’ll explain when we meet. Can you reach London by tomorrow evening?_

Dad was evading his question? Ron clenched his teeth. _Yes._ That wasn’t revealing anything sensitive - you could reach London from almost anywhere in the country in that time.

The next reply was an address: _Dumbledore Manor in ‘Mould-on-the-Wold’._

Granger, who was reading over his shoulder, gasped straight into his ear.

*****

_The Headmaster looked terrible. Pale, thin, with his bad arm hanging uselessly at his side, he seemed barely able to stand, much less walk. He looked frail, she realised with a shock. Judging by the muttered curses she heard from Ron and Harry, they had realised it as well._

_Dumbledore smiled. “I am not quite dead, yet, but I do not expect to live much longer.”_

_She swallowed and forced herself to nod as Harry spoke up: “Good evening, sir.”_

_He gestured, and three chairs appeared in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat. It is more comfortable to discuss such things while you’re seated, is it not?”_

_She pressed her lips together at the hint. They had known the Headmaster had been cursed months ago, but he hadn’t looked nearly that bad when they had seen him a few days ago._

_Everyone sat down._

_“Time. Ask me for anything but time.” Dumbledore shook his head. “But death comes for everyone, and I have lived a full life. I but wish the circumstances in which we find ourselves were less dire.”_

_Was he rambling? She pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t blurt out her question. He was Dumbledore, after all._

_“You didn’t just call us here to tell us you were dying, did you?” Ron said. “You kind of did that already.”_

_“No, I did not merely want to reveal my condition in a dramatic manner.” Dumbledore chuckled, but it ended in a heavy cough. “I have called you here to discuss the Order and your mission.”_

_She stiffened. Their mission. The hunt for the Horcruxes. The Headmaster had spent the last ten months - the last months of his life, it seemed - teaching and preparing them._

_“Did you find more clues to the Horcruxes’ locations?” Harry asked._

_“Alas, I was not so fortunate. You will have to rely on your special connection to Tom’s soul,” Dumbledore replied. “But a good friend of mine has provided me with a safer method to dispose of your targets.” He pulled out a small bottle. “A few drops from this will dissolve anything.”_

_Flamel. The ‘good friend’ had to be Flamel. But…_

_Dumbledore chuckled again, which once more ended in coughing. He conjured a glass of water for himself this time and took a swallow before he continued. “While the Elixir of Life, did not, alas, manage to counter the curse on me, I can assure you that this concoction will not disappoint you. I have tested it myself.”_

_Oh. She felt chastised for doubting Dumbledore as Harry took the bottle - very carefully, of course._

_“A tap with your wand will shrink it, another will restore its true size,” Dumbledore explained. “I took the liberty of enchanting and reinforcing the bottle.”_

_That made her breathe more easily. If they were to break a bottle full of a substance that could destroy a Horcrux while they were carrying it…_

_“Thank you, sir,” Harry said._

_“Do not thank me. I leave you with a terrible burden.”_

_She thought that he was right. “And who will replace you?”_

_“Alastor will handle most of the Order.”_

_Leaving them to deal with the Horcruxes._

_“Tom lost a significant number of his trusted followers in his attack on Hogwarts. Unfortunately, not enough to stop his rise to power. Not once I’m dead.” The Headmaster shook his head. “Soon, those who dared to oppose him will have to flee and hide. I can only hope that those he will target will heed my advice - or be scared into hiding by my death. But, at the very least, Severus killing me will cement his cover.”_

_She wasn’t the only one who gasped. Snape was… a spy? “Should you be telling us that?” she asked. Dumbledore had impressed on them how vital secrecy was._

_“You already know the most important secret. If you should fail, if you should get captured and your secrets revealed, all is lost anyway. And if you succeed, your word will save Severus.” He coughed once more._ _“You know what you have to do.”_

*****


	8. The Retired Gentleman

**Near Savernake Forest, Wiltshire, Britain, July 10th, 2005**

“Hey.” Ron reached out, but Granger shook her head before he touched her. Another flashback. So much for the quality of her therapist. On the other hand, she couldn’t have told them what she had really experienced, of course.

“Sorry… I know that name,” she said.

“Oh?” Luna perked up. “Friend or foe?”

Granger took a deep breath. “He was the Headmaster of my school. And the leader of the Order of the Phoenix.” And, obviously, dead in her world. “The only man, or so it was said, who Voldemort ever feared.”

“Yet, he died, and Riddle lived,” Harry not-quite-asked in a bitter voice. 

Ron pressed his lips together - the failure, as Harry saw it, of the police to stop Riddle before he managed to murder the Potters was a very sore point for his friend.

Granger narrowed her eyes at him. “He was cursed in a trap. He was never defeated in open combat.”

“It’s not very useful to win every fight yet lose the war,” Harry pointed out.

“We hadn’t lost the war when I was transported to this world,” Granger retorted, scowling now.

“But you didn’t think much of your chances,” Harry shot back.

Ron cleared his throat. “Let’s focus on the current problem. What do we do about this meeting?” He quickly typed: _Please wait a minute_.

_Ok, son._

“I think we should meet Dumbledore,” Granger said, with another glare at Harry.

“Based on his counterpart being your teacher?” Harry didn’t bother hiding his doubts, Ron noticed.

“Based on the fact that Arth…” She looked at Ron. “That your father is asking for a meeting, and that Albus Dumbledore was very important in my world. While, as I said before, repeatedly, I might add, we cannot trust someone just because their counterpart was someone I trusted, so far there has been a correlation in both trustworthiness and influence. Bones, Scrimgeour, Yaxley.”

“It could be a trap,” Harry retorted. “Arthur might trust whoever is behind this, but he could be mistaken.”

Ron wanted to defend Dad, but he had to admit that that was possible. Not aloud, though. “We will have to scout out the area for ambushes.”

“You want to go, then?” Luna asked. She sounded quite eager.

“The area, the manor - that’s a lot to cover,” Harry replied. “And if it’s a trap by the police, they’ll have the SAS dropping down on us from a chopper.”

That was a sobering thought. Ron knew he wasn’t a slouch in a fight, but to go up against those blokes... “But we have an advantage they can’t anticipate,” Ron retorted with a grin.

“Yes! Magic!” Luna pumped her fist.

Harry, though, frowned, and Granger didn’t look quite as enthusiastic as Luna. “My magical means are very limited,” she said. “I can’t just snap my fingers and reveal a trap.”

“But you can read thoughts, can’t you?” Harry challenged her. “If you can rearrange thoughts, you can read them as well.”

Granger blinked. “It doesn’t work like that. One is a charm, and the other is a skill you have to learn.”

“What?” Ron blurted out. “You mean you manipulate memories without knowing what they are?”

Granger winced. “Yes. It’s often very crude and blunt.”

Oh my God. Ron couldn’t imagine that. Well, he could, actually - but it wasn’t a pleasant thought.

“The Obliviators mostly just remove a few minutes of someone’s memory and confund them. Muggles usually make up explanations for whatever happened,” Granger said.

That didn’t make it sound it any better. He focused on the problem at hand. “Can you turn us invisible?”

“Not without a wand,” she replied. “I don’t have an invisibility cloak, and if I had one, it would have faded by now - they don’t last long. I cannot teleport, either - well, I could make an attempt, but it might leave parts of us behind. Such as an arm or leg. That’s called _splinching_.”

Ron wasn’t the only one who winced at that.

“So... what can you do with your magic?” Harry asked.

Granger pressed her lips together, then sighed. “I have various potions. It depends on what you need. A way to infiltrate the manor, or a way to escape?”

“Both,” Harry told her with a toothy smile.

She pressed her lips together. “I have a limited supply of Shrinking Solution. I prefer the Shrinking Charm, but I acquired these from… someone who had no further use for any of his possessions.”

“Waste not, want not,” Ron said. “So, how much does one shrink after drinking one?”

“It depends on how much you drink, but you can reduce a cow to the size of a mouse.”

“Wow!” Luna clapped her hands together. “Imagine how you could spy on someone with that!”

“Just check whether they have a cat or dog, or another pet, first,” Granger said.

“Oh.”

“Well, we have our escape plan,” Ron announced. 

“We do?” Luna asked, cocking her head as she looked at him. Granger and Harry weren’t as obvious, but they were looking at him with similar expressions.

“Yes,” Ron replied. “All we need is an RC helicopter - and someone at the controls.”

“I don’t think the SAS or whoever might be ambushing us would let an RC helicopter get close,” Granger pointed out.

“That’s why you’ll be carrying it in your bag. We can use some other of your surprises to gain enough time to drink the potions and get on the chopper,” Ron said.

Harry, of course, didn’t like the plan. But after thrashing out the details and a few contingencies - they couldn’t count on radios working inside the manor, after all - Luna and, more importantly, Granger were on board. And so Ron messaged Dad that they’d be there tomorrow.

*****

While Granger, prodded not-too-subtly by a hovering Luna, was noting down some of her old friends and allies, Ron went to find Harry, who had gone ‘to check the perimeter’. Which, given that Luna had placed more cameras in the area than you could find in the City, meant that Ron’s friend had gone to brood.

Ron climbed the stairs, checked the screen at the top for witnesses, then stepped out and took a deep breath. Even close to the dusty barn, the air smelt fresher than below - Luna had gone to great lengths, but filters could only do so much.

“Am I needed downstairs?”

Good, Ron thought as he turned, He hasn’t left the barn for the woods. There Ron’s friend stood, leaning against a support pillar in the middle of the barn. “No, Granger’s still working on her list,” Ron told him as he walked over.

Harry snorted. “Luna’s not helping, huh?”

Ron pressed his lips together for a moment. Luna was a great friend, and she meant well. And, as far as he could tell, Granger was aware of that.

“Sorry,” Harry said.

Ron grunted. Harry didn’t mean it. “So, what are you brooding about?” As he’d known, Harry frowned at him and didn’t answer. “Missing Ginny?”

“You already asked me that.”

“And you didn’t answer,” Ron retorted. 

“Of course I miss her!” Harry snarled.

“Sorry.” Ron held up his hands. But he had to ask. “Should I have asked Dad to pass on a message while we were talking?” Harry hadn’t said anything, but Ron could have asked - if he had thought of it.

“No.” Harry shook his head, then brushed a dust mite off his sleeve. “I’ll ask myself next time. Provided that the meeting isn’t a trap.”

“It shouldn’t be.” If Dad was compromised… Ron didn’t want to think about what that would mean. For them, and for his family.

His friend snorted. “We were attacked at our last meeting. And Bones knew what she was doing.”

“There was also a traitor in CI5, probably close to her,” Ron pointed out.

Harry pushed off the pillar. “Let’s hope whoever is after us will keep making mistakes.”

“We have our escape plan ready,” Ron replied.

“Getting shrunk and then on to an RC helicopter.”

“It was your idea to use magic,” he pointed out.

“I was thinking of some way to detect enemies. Or take them out,” Harry said. “Not of… getting turned into a mouse.”

“Transfigured,” Ron told him. “That’s the technical term, I believe.”

“You’ve been talking to Granger a lot.”

“Yes.” Ron let out his breath through briefly clenched teeth. “Knowing what magic can and can’t do is important if we plan to depend on it.”

Harry grunted, looking at - or acting as if he were - a broken-down tractor.

“You know, magic has laws and limits. And Granger can’t just snap her fingers and alter reality,” Ron said. If Harry would make the attempt, he could probably figure out a lot.

“Does she have a nice handbook with all the rules in it, too?”

Ron rolled his eyes at the remark. “Very funny.” He stepped closer to Harry. “Seriously, stop being so difficult about it. We need to be on top of our game if we want to make it through this.”

“‘Our game’. Very funny,” Harry said, but he was grinning. Then he sighed. “I know. I just hate not knowing anything about magic.”

“Well, learn?” Ron shrugged. “Granger can help you.”

“She certainly likes to give lessons,” Harry said, grinning again.

Ron frowned, then shrugged. It was true, after all - he had thought so himself. But he still didn’t like hearing it from Harry. “Let’s go downstairs before Luna convinces Granger to curse the government.”

“I thought she couldn’t do that?”

“She’s not supposed to be able to, no.”

“But you don’t believe it?” Harry asked as the door swung open and revealed the staircase below.

“I think she’s holding some things back ,” Ron said.

“Ah.”

Ron nodded. It was only natural - as Moody had taught them, you never showed your full hand until it was absolutely necessary.

*****

“So, you can’t create food out of thin air, but you can enlarge and multiply existing food,” Harry said half an hour later, still taking notes.

“Yes. One of the Five Principal Exceptions to Gamp’s Law,” Granger replied. 

“But you can create water.”

“Yes.”

“So, it’s food that’s special. Not the matter itself.” Harry made another note.

“Yes.”

“And you could transfigure the water to oil.”

“Yes.”

“Which is food, provided it’s the right kind of oil.”

“It wouldn’t be edible,” Granger said.

“Does that mean it can’t be ingested, or that it shouldn’t be ingested? And what happens if you mix it with real oil?” Harry leaned forward, just like he usually did when he had caught something during an interrogation.

“Your body will not derive any sustenance from it. But it will not suddenly turn to poison in someone’s body.”

“So you couldn’t - if you had a wand - transfigure, say, mercury into water and add it to someone’s drink, then let it transform back and watch them die?” Ron’s friend sounded disappointed.

“No, you couldn’t. But there are dozens of magical poisons if you need to kill someone.”

“And how many do you have on you?”

“A few.” Granger sounded a little cagey.

“Enough to, say, contaminate an entire water supply?” Harry asked.

“It would depend on the size.”

“But could you enlarge the vial?”

“With magical substances, that’s very difficult. Theoretically possible, but few would make the attempt.”

Ron wanted to hit himself. He should have known this would happen. 

“It’s like the Final Fantasy Debacle,” Luna whispered next to him.

He frowned at her, which didn’t impress her in the slightest. And she was correct. Ron had spent two months trying to get Harry to play Final Fantasy Legend 2, back in school, and once Harry had - finally! - tried the game out, he had quickly monopolised Ron’s Gameboy. Until Sirius had bought Harry a Gameboy of his own, at least.

Well, Granger wasn’t a Gameboy, of course. Still… Ron felt the same urge to punch Harry that he had felt back then.

And Granger still hadn’t finished her list.

*****

**Mould-on-the-Wold, Gloucestershire, Britain, July 11th, 2005**

“What do you see? Do you see anything? I didn’t see anything.”

“I don’t see anything suspicious,” Ron told Luna. He refrained from adding: ‘As I told you five minutes ago’ - she was a little excited.

"That doesn’t mean that there isn’t anything suspicious,” Harry said, lowering his binoculars.

A competent ambush wouldn’t be very easy to detect, Ron knew. But they had circled the village and then the manor for an hour, at a safe distance, and hadn’t spotted anything. “If there’s a trap, it’s probably inside the manor,” he said. “And we can’t do much about that. But this is a good spot for Luna to control our getaway chopper.”

“Yes! It’s in range of the remote, and we can hide the getaway car nearby!” Luna agreed. 

Ron was quite relieved that she was enthusiastic about her role, instead of complaining about missing out on the first meeting with Dad’s mysterious contact. But he didn’t want Luna anywhere near a potential fight - she wasn’t trained for that, and she didn’t have Granger’s experience, either. But she was the best RC pilot they had, Harry’s opinion that just because he could fly a plane meant he could fly an RC chopper as well notwithstanding.

“Testing, testing,” Luna said. 

Ron heard her through the bud in his ear, and, of course, normally as well. “It works,” he told her. At her pout, he lowered his voice, looked down, where he was wearing a wire under his shirt, and whispered: “It works.”

“Great! All set here!”

“Do you have the pouch with the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder?” Granger asked - not for the first time, either. Ron still couldn’t tell if she didn’t trust anyone else to know what they were doing with the magic powder or because she needed to distract herself so she wouldn’t work herself into a nervous frenzy. Not that she wasn’t coming close right now anyway.

“Yes!” Luna announced, holding up a small bag. “I’m ready to work magic!”

“Good. Remember, you won’t be able to see anything either.”

Distraction, Ron decided. Definitely distraction.

“Alright,” Harry said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Ron snorted. Cheesy movie quotes were usually his shtick. Perhaps Harry was a little nervous as well. “Literally,” he said - they had to go back to where they had hidden the other car, then drive up to the manor. “Keep an eye on the house, but don’t expose yourself, OK?” he told Luna.

She laughed. “I’ve been spying on people for years! Only on corrupt government people, of course.”

“That’s reassuring to know,” Harry said, deadpan.

Luna smiled widely at him. “I know! That’s why I said it!”

Ron chuckled at Harry’s face, and, after a moment, Luna joined him. To his surprise, even Granger laughed - briefly. Though she gave him a weird look, too, he noticed.

*****

Twenty minutes later, they watched the gates of the manor open as soon as they drove up to it. Someone was watching them - probably watching all approaches to the manor. It’s what Ron would have done in their place.

“I wonder if my Dumbledore had a manor as well,” Granger said. “He lived at Hogwarts, so it never came up. But this… it’s not up to Malfoy’s standard, but the owner must be quite quite well-off.”

“It’s a lot classier than Malfoy’s,” Harry said as he parked the car next to a sports car. “His dad only married Narcissa so he would get someone with a sense of style in the family.”

That was Sirius’s opinion, of course. Which wasn’t always reliable. “It wasn’t hereditary, then,” Ron replied. “Remember Malfoy’s green suit?”

Both of them laughed at the memory as they got out of the car, followed by Granger. Sunglasses and caps hid their faces, wigs their hair - though Granger’s hair had put up quite the resistance. 

Before they could take more than a few steps towards the house, a door opened.

“Side entrance,” Ron commented. It was more discreet - although anyone observing the manor would spot them entering anyway. And he couldn’t see anyone waiting there for them. Of course, they were covered by cameras. One in the open, and, as far as he could tell, two more hidden.

“Will you come into my parlour?” Harry joked.

“We’re not flies,” Granger said.

“But I’d like to be a fly on the wall!” Luna commented in Ron’s ear. “Well, I am, actually. Unless the manor is radio-proof.”

He suppressed a chuckle. “Let’s go, shall we?”

They entered the manor. The door closed behind them, and they still didn’t see anyone. 

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Ron heard a voice say.

Granger jerked. She whispered something under her breath that Ron didn’t catch.

“Please join me in the living room,” the voice went on as another door opened, revealing a corridor. Someone had spent a lot of money on this house. And, seeing as Luna was quiet, they had probably lost radio contact. He signalled the others - they would have to adjust their plans accordingly.

Ron walked closer to Granger as they entered the hallway, but she didn’t say anything else before they reached the end of the corridor, and another door swung open, revealing a large living room, with old-fashioned furniture and heavy drapes covering the windows. 

An old man sitting in a large armchair rose as they entered and nodded at them. “Dr Granger. Mr Potter. Mr Weasley.” He was wearing expensive, if understated, clothes and had a short, well-trimmed beard.

“Dumbledore,” Granger said - Ron heard her draw a deep breath. “Albus Dumbledore.”

The man smiled. “I’m impressed - few would recognise me. I did make an effort to disappear from the public eye.”

Granger shook her head. “I didn’t know… I mean...”

The man’s smile widened. “Now I’m intrigued.”

Ron almost moved to interpose himself between the old man and Granger before he could control himself.

“Intrigued?” Granger asked, suddenly sounding more wary - or worried.

“If you didn’t know my past, then how did you recognise me?” Dumbledore’s smile didn’t change as he pushed up his half-moon reading glasses.

Granger didn’t seem to have an answer, so Ron spoke up: “She didn’t say that.”

The old man - he had to be at least seventy - inclined his head. “Yet she denied having researched me, didn’t she?”

Ron didn’t glare at her. That was an old trick he wouldn’t fall for.

“Why did you want to meet us?” Granger asked. It looked like she had recovered her composure. And her attitude. Good.

Dumbledore gestured to the couch in the room. “Will you take a seat? I’ve found it’s more comfortable and more productive, usually, to talk while everyone’s sitting.”

Ron hadn’t spotted any hidden shooters nor any traps - but that didn’t mean much. You could hide a lot in your flat if you had enough time.

“I prefer to stand,” Harry said, leaning against the wall next to the door, arms crossed - with his hand next to his shoulder holster.

“By all means,” Dumbledore said, still smiling - rather condescendingly, in Ron’s opinion. 

But Granger was sitting down, so Ron followed her example, taking a seat next to her on the couch.

“I would offer you some refreshments, but I think you would refuse them, at least for now.”

Ron pressed his lips together. He didn’t like the man’s attitude. But he liked the fact that Dumbledore seemed to know so much about them even less. “How do you know my father?” Dad had never mentioned Dumbledore. “And where is he?”

“Arthur couldn’t shake the people keeping him under observation,” Dumbledore told him. “You can speak to him through the phone on the table, though. As to how I know him… I helped him out of a tight spot some time ago. A sticky situation, but I managed to solve it.”

“So he owed you,” Harry said as Ron grabbed the phone and sent Dad a quick message using another of the signs from the signs and countersigns his father had taught Ron and his siblings. Within a second, he received the countersign and sighed in relief. He would hold off speaking to Dad until Dumbledore wasn’t listening in.

“He thinks he does. I was just doing what was right.” Dumbledore said, apparently not paying attention to Ron.

Granger made a choking noise in response to that.

“Dr Granger?” Of course the old man wouldn’t miss that. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she said - though Ron could almost feel her tension. “Who are you?”

“A good question. I’d like to say that I’m a retired gentleman.” Dumbledore chuckled. “It’s true - from a certain point of view.”

Now he was quoting Star Wars? Ron glared at him.

Which Dumbledore seemed to find amusing. “I’m sorry - at my age, one is bound to become a little eccentric.” He sighed. “But I digress. So, I was the Chief of the Secret Intelligence Service for a rather troubled time in the eighties.”

The man had been the boss of MI6? The infamous ‘C’? Ron tensed. That meant the old man would be prepared for a fight. He glanced around, but he still couldn’t spot any sign of a trap or an ambush. But opening the windows and fleeing by air might be more difficult than they had anticipated.

“And what do you want?” Granger asked.

“I could say I want to help deal with a quite embarrassing situation for the government - not that Downing Street or my successors would acknowledge, much less thank, me - but it’s mostly to satisfy my curiosity,” Dumbledore said. He leaned forward and steepled his hands. “Even after retirement, I kept an ear to the ground, so to speak. In my business, it pays to keep abreast of developments, lest you find yourself out in the cold and being hunted.”

Ron clenched his teeth at the implied criticism. There wasn’t anything they could have done. 

“So when I heard that certain, shall we say, assets of former opponents of mine were being sent to England to hunt down a physicist, shortly followed by the murders of senior police officers, I began to wonder exactly why people were going to such great lengths in your case, Dr Granger.”

“‘Former opponents’?” Harry asked.

“The Cold War ended shortly after my official retirement, leaving a number of very capable - and dangerous - assets bereft of gainful employment by the state they had served. Many of them decided to enter the private sector. As did some of their superiors.” He shook his head. “Given my past, it was only logical to keep an eye on them.”

“What… Are you telling me that the Russian Mafia is hunting me?” Granger sounded as if she couldn’t believe it.

“That is exactly what I’m saying, my dear. Although parts of the Russian government have close ties to them as well, so they might just be a front. However, that doesn’t answer the most important question: why?” He looked at Granger, slightly tilting his head.

“I don’t _know_!” Granger replied - a little too forcefully, Ron thought.

“But I think you suspect.” Dumbledore leaned back. “The theory that this is related to your kidnapping, as the media are so fond of speculating, can be safely dismissed, in my opinion. Almost ten years passing before someone moved against you? That would have been far too late to silence a witness, and far too long for the kind of obsessed criminal who couldn’t let you get away. So this is either related to your private life or to your work. And, please excuse my bluntness, you don’t have a private life.”

Granger drew a sharp breath at that, and Ron thought her eyes were blazing, but she didn’t contradict the old man. 

“Which leaves your work.” Dumbledore shook his head. “Research that, when it was first proposed, was criticised for its utter lack of practical application.”

So he had investigated Granger thoroughly. Of course, for a man with his contacts, that probably didn’t take much of an effort. Unless Dumbledore had treated his co-workers and colleagues with as much condescension as he was treating them, and they ignored him as soon as he retired.

“My work is well-documented as investigating a purely theoretical aspect of quantum physics,” Granger replied - but a moment too late to sound completely natural.

Dumbledore chuckled. “Well-documented doesn’t mean that something is actually true, though, does it?”

Harry frowned, Ron saw, but this was on their heads as well - they had known that Granger wasn’t the best liar. And facing a former head of the Secret Intelligence Service? Ron snorted, earning him a smile from Dumbledore and a glare from Granger and Harry.

“So what exactly did you discover that has attracted such attention?”

Granger hesitated. Ron saw her open her mouth, but she didn’t start speaking. Instead, she glanced at him and at Harry. Harry kept scowling - at Dumbledore, now. But the old man didn’t seem to be impressed at all.

Ron sighed. “Dad trusts him, or he wouldn’t have arranged this meeting,” he told them.

Dumbledore didn’t seem to mind the rudeness. A pity - Ron would have liked to get back at the man, a little at least.

Granger looked at Harry. Ron’s friend scoffed.

The witch frowned, then, after another glance at Ron, turned back to face Dumbledore and took a deep breath. “I’m working on opening a portal to a parallel world.”

The old man’s eyebrows rose, and his smile faded - although not completely. Then he stared at Granger for a few seconds, before he slowly nodded. “That makes sense. Your home world, I presume?”

Ron wasn’t the only one gaping at him. “How…” He cut himself off by pressing his lips together.

Dumbledore smiled and answered anyway. “It was an educated guess, of course. But, once more, the key is in the wording. You, Dr Granger, spoke of ‘a parallel world’. Why did you pick that term? Why not ‘an alternate world’? Or ‘another dimension’? You might be speculating, but I don’t think you’d let your assumptions and theories be presented as facts, not even in this context. Which means you have some information on which you base your terms. If you had the ability to observe another world and revealed it, you would have earned yourself a Nobel prize for certain. Fame and fortune would have been yours.”

“I’m not interested in either,” Granger snapped.

“No, you aren’t. Which is another clue. You keep your real research secret. Why would you do that? Why, indeed, if not to travel to another world yourself, without anyone the wiser?” He nodded. “You might have been afraid of the effect your work will have on the world. A way to travel to other earths? Different worlds? How tempting - and how dangerous. Would you usher in a new age of colonialism, or open our world to an invasion?”

Ron frowned. He should have been considering that - he had read enough sci-fi books, after all, with similar plots. And Granger was flinching.

“You could have stopped working. Destroyed your notes. Perhaps sought the patronage of the UN, to relieve yourself of your responsibility. Yet you continued. Why would you do that? You might simply be driven by intellectual curiosity or the desire to overcome the challenges such work represents. But I guessed that the real reason is that you want to return home.” Dumbledore leaned back, folding his hands over his stomach. “And I guessed correctly, didn’t I?”

Granger slumped and sighed. “Yes.”

Dumbledore didn’t quite gloat, but he nodded with a certain air of satisfaction which came close.

“But it’s impossible for anyone else to know what I’m doing,” Granger protested. “Not only have I not shared my notes with anyone, not even a computer, but without certain knowledge only I possess, the notes wouldn’t make any sense.”

“I would not dismiss that possibility out of hand, my dear,” Dumbledore said. “You arrived in our world in 1998, didn’t you? You weren’t kidnapped for seven years, were you?”

“Yes, I did. I was mistaken for my counterpart. But I told my… her parents the truth as soon as I could.”

“Well, I think you overlooked a possibility, my dear: What would someone who was certain that you were not the original Hermione Granger assume after you resurfaced?”

Ron shook his head. There was a problem with that assumption.

“Why would they have waited seven years, though?” Harry asked. “Her ‘return’ was national, even world-wide, news.”

“Perhaps they weren’t certain. Perhaps they - those who have the power to move against her - have only just recently come into possession of this information. Perhaps they previously thought you an impostor. But once someone is reasonably sure that you are another Hermione Granger they will come up with a very short list of possible explanations,” Dumbledore replied. “Coupled with your work…” He spread his hands. “I don’t think it would take a genius to work out that you are far more valuable than anyone else had realised.”

‘Valuable’? Ron narrowed his eyes. Dumbledore had just stressed how important the terms one used were, hadn’t he?

Damn.

“They could assume that I’m a clone,” Granger replied.

“That is possible,” Dumbledore admitted, “but unlikely. Why would anyone have not only cloned a little girl who was kidnapped years ago, but keep it a secret, yet let the girl go?” He shook his head. “No, I think whoever is hunting you suspects what you are working on, even though they remain ignorant of the exact details behind it. Not unlike my own position,” he added with a smile.

Fishing for more information. Two could play that game. “Not unlike our own position with regards to your intentions,” Ron said before Granger could spill even more information.

“Touché,” Dumbledore said, not losing his smile. Ron was starting to suspect that the man would keep smiling even in the face of death - his own or his enemies’.

“You’ve satisfied your curiosity,” Harry told him with the hint of a sneer. “Mission accomplished.”

“You know how things work in our business,” Dumbledore replied. “The reward for a successful mission is another mission.”

“And what mission would that be?” Ron asked, tensing up.

“Why, helping Dr Granger to finish her work, I think.” Dumbledore tilted his head again. “Which includes clearing your names, of course.”

How convenient! Ron almost scoffed openly. Helping the ‘valuable’ scientist...

Granger frowned. “Clearing our names should allow me to return to my lab. Yet you seem to imply that there’s more to it.”

“Indeed.” Dumbledore nodded, appearing pleased - like one of Ron’s old teachers when someone answered a question correctly. “You have, undoubtedly, realised just how important and dangerous your work is. As has your mysterious enemy. As long as they are not dealt with, you wouldn’t be safe at your former place of work.”

“My ‘ _former_ place of work’?” Ah, there was Granger, finally showing some spine again!

“Correct. Even if this Russian connection is cut, which I trust will happen, with some help, a number of people will make similar deductions. At the very least, they will assume that your work isn’t quite as boringly theoretical as you made it out to be. They will investigate. And while I don’t doubt that you were quite clever, a thorough investigation will eventually uncover even the smallest of irregularities - those which would ordinarily be overlooked.” The old man sighed. “I don’t think you will be able to continue your work at your laboratory, even if the government will keep your parents safe.”

Granger’s face fell, and Ron saw her clench her fists. He understood her reaction - this was a huge setback. And something they should have realised themselves.

“And you have a solution for that?” Granger spat more than she said.

“I believe so. However, perhaps we should inform your backup that you haven’t fallen into a trap?” Dumbledore said, raising his eyebrows.

“Our backup?” Harry asked, acting, quite convincingly, in Ron’s opinion, as if he didn’t know what Dumbledore was talking about.

“Please, Mr Potter. I’m familiar with your and Mr Weasley’s efforts. I don’t believe both of you would have entered my manor without having someone else ready to come to your rescue.”

Ron really, really hated the man’s smug smile and patronising manner. At least he hadn’t deduced Luna’s identity. Or, Ron thought, that’s what he wants us to think…

On the other hand, they had already told him almost everything, and he hadn’t sprung a trap on them. But to reveal Luna? No. Certainly not to a former chief of MI6. That would be betraying her trust. “They’ll be fine,” he said.

Dumbledore seemed to accept his answer with a nod. Although… Harry and Granger had deferred to Ron. Would that be enough for Dumbledore to deduce Luna’s identity? Had it been?

Granger spoke up before Ron found an answer: “And how would a retired spymaster be able to help me with my work? Using your influence with your former co-workers?”

Dumbledore laughed. “I don’t think they would heed my advice, no matter how sensible. And most of those who remain of my friends are now retired as well.” He shook his head. “Besides, my successors wouldn’t need my advice to realise what you represent. Although they might need more time. No, I wasn’t offering what influence in Britain I still command.” He smiled. “I can offer you a modern laboratory with everything you need.”

That sounded too good to be true, in Ron’s opinion. And it was a common con strategy: First, lay out a supposedly huge problem, then propose a neat and simple solution and watch your mark fall for it.

“My work requires a lot of power,” Granger said. Was she actually falling for this?

“Power isn’t a problem, my dear.”

“Really?” She frowned. “I had a lot of trouble to secure my lab. And I am to believe you could whip one out just like that?”

Once more, Dumbledore inclined his head. “My finances greatly improved after my retirement. Arranging access to a laboratory on par with, if not better than, your last one is not much of a challenge.” He leaned forward. “However, I would have to know what else you’re hiding about your work.”

Ron glanced at Granger, whose brief but clearly surprised expression had, unfortunately, once again betrayed her thoughts and confirmed Dumbledore’s claim. At least she didn’t bother denying it this time.

“I don’t think revealing anything else is advisable before you’ve proved that you can actually provide me with a laboratory suitable to my needs,” she said, raising her chin. “And explained just how exactly you managed to amass such wealth as a retired government employee.”

Ron nodded in support - he was more than familiar with the income of even a senior member of the civil service, and the Dumbledore family, while not as poor as the Weasleys, wasn’t wealthy enough to make up the difference - they had checked that.

Dumbledore ran a hand over his short, well-groomed beard for a moment. “A fair demand, I think. And, although I didn’t exactly advertise my private life and kept it out of the press thanks to a few favours I was owed, it’s not a secret either - though some of my old co-workers certainly wish it were.” He leaned back. “I am the co-owner of the Phoenix Gruppe.”

Ron whistled. Phoenix Gruppe was one of the bigger German corporations. They were mainly known for their armament branch, but they had interests in many other sectors.

“Technically, even a single share would make you a co-owner,” Harry pointed out.

The old man’s smile widened. “You are correct. However, such word games wouldn’t serve me here.” He looked at Granger. “I own fifty per cent of the shares of the main holding firm.”

Ron blinked. Even taking the fact that a lot of the subdivisions were publicly traded into account, that meant the old man was a multi-billionaire. How could he have managed…? Of course! “You were one of the founders of the firm, weren’t you?”

“Correct!” Dumbledore beamed at him.

Ron suppressed a scowl. Would the old man ever stop acting as if they were precocious students answering questions in school?

“It was shortly after the end of the Second World War. I had served in the Secret Service during the war - the details are still classified - and I wasn’t yet quite certain whether I should continue my career in the service or join the millions of other young men returning to civilian life. So when I had the opportunity to invest in a new company being founded, I took it. Despite my father’s wishes at the time - he was a very traditional man.” His smile turned a little sad for a moment, or so Ron thought.

“A _German_ firm?” Harry didn’t bother hiding his doubts.

“I was in Germany at the time,” Dumbledore replied. With a smile, he added: “I was of the opinion that if both Britain and the United States were recruiting every talented German for various tasks, provided they weren’t too badly tainted by their service to the Nazis, then co-founding a company myself would also be acceptable.” He frowned briefly. “Do you disagree, Dr Granger?”

She was staring at Dumbledore, not quite shocked, but close, Ron noticed. “Would… would the other founder of the Phoenix Gruppe be named Grindelwald?”

“Why, yes. Gellert Grindelwald.”

*****

‘Dumbledore revealed as Grindelwald’s ally! Plans to subjugate Magical Europe and oppress pureblood culture discovered!’

_She fought the urge to throw the Daily Prophet to the ground of their tent. Dumbledore had fought and defeated Grindelwald! Everyone knew that - it was the most famous duel of the century! Perhaps of all time! “What are they thinking?” she spat, shaking her head._

_“It’s propaganda,” Ron replied._ _“Like their ‘reports’ about muggleborns stealing magic. They paint Dumbledore as the real Dark Lord because they hope such lies will erode our support in Britain.”_

_“And in the other countries,” Harry added, scowling. “But it’ll make it harder for the Delacours to get us help from France.”_

_She nodded - few, if any, French wizards and witches would ever help a friend of Grindelwald. Not after the atrocities committed by his followers in the forties._

_“If only the Death Eaters had attacked Bill and Fleur’s wedding instead of the Ministry,” Ron muttered._

_“Ron!” She glared at him._

_“What?” He grinned as he moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders - after planting a kiss on the nape of her neck. “They had half the French Gendarmes there, surrounding the chateau. If Tom had attacked the wedding, he’d have lost most of his followers, and France would have moved against him. And they wouldn’t even have come close to the guests, anyway.”_

_He had a point, but she didn’t like admitting it. Nor that this might have been the Order’s plan. She huffed instead. “In any case, this is a transparent lie few, even in Britain, will believe.” Dumbledore, friends with one of the worst dark wizards in Europe? Who had dragged the entirety of Magical Europe into the bloodiest war of the Wizarding World of the century until stopped by Dumbledore? Preposterous! The Headmaster’s career spoke for itself. Voldemort had to be desperate to stoop to using such obvious lies._

_She dropped the newspaper. She couldn’t dwell on this - Luna and Lee would deal with the enemy propaganda anyway. She and her friends had a bank robbery to plan._

_*****_


	9. The List

**Mould-on-the-Wold, Gloucestershire, Britain, July 11th, 2005**

“From your reaction, I assume that you knew both my and Gellert’s counterparts in your world. And not under the best of circumstances.” Dumbledore’s smile had faded almost completely.

Granger shook her head. “I never met Grindelwald.”

“But you’d heard of him.” Dumbledore leaned forward.

Ron matched him - and shifted his weight a little. Just in case. Whatever trap the man must have prepared might be avoided if Ron managed to tackle him. Dumbledore didn’t strike him as the suicidal type, and even so-called knockout gas wasn’t exactly safe to use, as the Moscow theatre hostage crisis had proved.

“I had, yes. I dismissed what I heard, though.” Granger spoke very precisely, almost biting the words out. 

Ron reached over, touching her thigh with the back of his hand. She stiffened, then slowly breathed out.

“What exactly did you hear? It seems obvious that there are significant differences between this world and your own.”

Granger snorted at that. “You might say so, yes.” 

Dumbledore inclined his head, but she still hesitated to elaborate, Ron saw. He cleared his throat. “Explaining the differences would also reveal important secrets.”

Granger frowned at him for a moment, then turned her attention back on Dumbledore. “Could you tell us more about Mr Grindelwald and how you met him?”

Dumbledore hesitated a moment before that slightly condescending smile of his appeared again. “Of course.” He leaned back. “I met him on a mission in occupied Europe in 1943. Paris, to be exact - the City of Love had seen better days, but even under the Germans, there was a certain _je ne sais quoi_ … but I digress. It was one of my first missions - I had completed my training a year previously and volunteered for the Special Operations Executive - I was a Baker Street Irregular. Since I spoke perfect French, I was sent on a mission to France.” 

They certainly wouldn’t have sent the man to Norway, Ron thought.

Dumbledore sighed. “Gellert was a member of the Abwehr. A very junior member, of course. He had pulled a few strings to get posted to Paris - his mother knew Admiral Canaris, a relationship that got Gellert into trouble after the failed assassination of Hitler in July 1944. Fortunately, he managed to deflect the suspicion of the Gestapo, or he might have been executed as well.”

Dumbledore hadn’t said if Grindelwald had actually been involved in that plot. Ron took that to mean that that hadn’t been the case. He glanced at Harry, who was frowning. So, he had noticed that as well. Granger, though, seemed to be listening with rapt attention.

“Anyway, I met Gellert in Paris - we frequented the same bars. I quickly realised that he was a member of the Abwehr, and he claims he was suspicious of me as well, but since he never tried to take me in, I think that’s mostly his bruised ego speaking.” He chuckled. “In any case, I should have avoided him, faded away and focused on my mission, but I was young and foolish. The prospect of working on my mission while socialising with my direct opposite was irresistible.”

“You fell in love,” Granger said.

Dumbledore’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second. “Perhaps the differences between our worlds aren’t as great as I assumed. Yes, indeed, we had an _amour fou_ , as the French would say. We were enemies, in the middle of the war, and even in peacetime, both our countries would have considered our relationship a crime - it was exactly the sort of foolishness young men were wont to engage in.” 

For the first time, Dumbledore’s smile seemed, in Ron’s opinion, to be completely devoid of condescension and deceit.

“Of course, it couldn’t last. We both knew it. The Invasion happened in June 1944, and in August, the battle for Paris began.” The old man shook his head. “The police rose against the Germans, and battles broke out all over the city while Leclerc advanced towards Versailles. Gellert rushed to the hotel in which I was staying, braving the general madness, to get me out of the city - he knew what would happen to _collaborateurs_. Unfortunately, he managed to catch me when I was meeting with members of the Resistance, and things took a rather violent turn. No one died, fortunately, and he managed to escape and evade pursuit, rejoining the German lines as they retreated. I didn’t see him again until the war had ended.”

“And you rekindled your relationship,” Granger said rather than asked.

“It wasn’t as easy as that makes it sound,” Dumbledore told her, “but, essentially, yes.” He shrugged. “The most devastating war in the history of the human race had just ended, and millions had to adjust to the sudden changes. Gellert proved to be as adaptable as he was intelligent, and we, well, came to an arrangement.”

“You protected him,” Harry said.

Dumbledore slowly nodded. “I did expedite him getting cleared, but as a very young member of the Abwehr with relatives implicated in the failed plot against Hitler, he wouldn’t have been treated as a true believer in the Nazi ideology anyway.”

“But _was_ he a Nazi?” Granger asked, staring at Dumbledore.

“If he had ever been one, he wasn’t, not any more.”

“Ah.” 

Granger’s smile was hard to read.

After a moment, Ron spoke up: “Dad’s message claimed that we were in danger.”

If Dumbledore was annoyed at the change of topic, he didn’t show it. “You aren’t as safe as you might think you are. The foiled terrorist attacks, the two high-profile assassinations and Britain’s most famous kidnapping victim possibly being kidnapped again - the public is demanding results and retribution, and the government will do its utmost to deliver, lest the minister in charge lose even more face and be replaced by one of their rivals in the party.” 

Ron snorted, but had to agree - justice wasn’t as effective at pushing the government into action as the threat of losing power.

Dumbledore nodded at him and folded his hands again. “As a consequence, the authorities will not shy away from any means to find you - and Dr Granger. They already have your family under observation, Mr Weasley. And after Arthur’s visit to Mr Lovegood, they will place him and his daughter under surveillance as well. Then once the Grangers resurface, they will also be put under surveillance. Technically, they already are, of course.”

Ron didn’t react. He was certain of that. But the old man was correct - if Dad had been spotted visiting Xenophon, then it wouldn’t take a genius to order Luna to be put under surveillance as well. And while Luna had gone to great lengths to hide her place, no cover was perfect. Put against the efforts of the government, and assuming that they would look the other way while certain police officers bent a few laws, they would be able to find Luna’s home - eventually. 

“That you were once in a relationship with Miss Lovegood is known. As is the fact that you broke up amicably,” Dumbledore went on.

“Xeno’s a very careful man,” Ron replied. “Even if they break into his home, they won’t find anything on his computers.” And he knew how to delete data properly so it couldn’t be reconstructed. And how to encode messages so they couldn’t be deciphered any time this century.

“I don’t doubt that. But I also know my former department. And trust me - people who cut their teeth foiling the KGB’s best plans will not be daunted by the efforts of an amateur, however gifted they might be.”

Ron wanted to frown - both at the implied insult to the Lovegoods’ skill and at the threat being laid out so plainly. He didn’t, though. Dumbledore wanted him to show a reaction so he could confirm his guess. “We aren’t easy to find,” he replied instead.

“You need help hiding,” Dumbledore retorted.

“No, we don’t,” Harry stated. “We can hide as long as it takes the police to sort this out without any outside help.”

Dumbledore slowly nodded, apparently acknowledging the point. “But do you want to? And that still doesn’t help Dr Granger in achieving her goals. As I’ve already explained, Dr Granger, you won’t be able to continue your subterfuge, I’m afraid. Her Majesty’s Government is not as quick to grasp the full ramifications of every situation as it should be, but in this case, they can hardly miss the implications.”

“And you claim to be a more trustworthy source of help than our government?” Granger asked. “A former spymaster turned arms manufacturer who is collaborating with a former Nazi spy?”

“Technically, Gellert wasn’t a spy - he was counter-intelligence,” Dumbledore replied. With a smile, he added: “But you are correct: I do claim that I’m more trustworthy than our government. Of course, I am slightly biased.” He chuckled. “However, I don’t think I’ve given you cause to distrust me any more than our government - none of my employees, after all, are currently hunting you or tried to frame your friends for murder.”

“So you say.” Harry was still standing with his arms crossed, staring at the old man.

“If I were behind the attacks on you, wouldn’t I have made my move long ago? I could have taken Mr Weasley’s family hostage, for example. And ambushed you as soon as you entered my home.” Dumbledore slowly shook his head. “If I meant you and yours harm, I would have handled this quite differently, I assure you.”

Of course, the man could be merely trying to gain their trust - Granger’s trust - by playing nice. But such plans were convoluted and prone to failure. On the other hand, Dumbledore was the partner of a former Nazi - a real Nazi. “And what do you get out of this?” Ron asked, narrowing his eyes at the old man. “You wouldn’t be offering a fortune’s worth of resources - and risking a possible charge of treason - simply to satisfy your curiosity.”

“Oh, at my age? Trust me, I would.” Dumbledore laughed. “Neither myself nor Gellert have any family we can stand, so our considerable fortunes will, after our eventual but inevitable deaths, be left to Germany and the United Kingdom, respectively. And while I would never consider myself a traitor, my loyalty to my country isn’t so strong as to keep me from spending a small fortune on indulging my whims.” He leaned forward. “Moreover, spending a small fortune to, let us say, prolong our lives a little longer? That would be an immensely shrewd investment at any age, wouldn’t it?”

Ron frowned. What did the old man mean? He glanced at his friend; Harry was frowning as well. But Granger… the woman was nodding.

Ah. “You’re counting on gaining access to the technology of Dr Granger’s world to prolong your life,” Ron said.

“Precisely,” Dumbledore told him. “I don’t think I’m wrong in assuming that Dr Granger’s world is quite a bit more advanced than ours if, at her age, and with only access to our technology and knowledge, she can construct a means to travel between worlds. And humans being humans, I trust them to have invested considerable resources in warding off death.”

Granger chuckled at that. “Some of them, at least. Others considered death but the next great adventure.”

“I have to admit, Dr Granger, that I’m not particularly religious. And, according to your file, neither are you.”

She sighed. “You are correct. Both in my view of religion and in your assumption that my world’s population tends to live considerably longer than yours. Your counterpart, for example, was a hundred and fifteen years old when he was killed.”

Dumbledore positively beamed at her.

Granger’s answering smile looked both tired and cynical. “However, as the circumstances of my arrival might have indicated, I don’t know how my home’s faring - when I, involuntarily, left, we were fighting a civil war against a mad tyrant.”

Dumbledore looked, briefly, surprised - and was that a sliver of annoyance? At having missed or dismissed that information? So the old man wasn’t infallible, either. “That tyrant… he wouldn’t have been German, would he?” Dumbledore asked.

“No. The Dark Lord, as he called himself, was born a British subject,” Granger replied.

“He called himself ‘the Dark Lord’?” Dumbledore sounded both appalled and amused.

“He earned the name.” Granger sneered, then shook her head. “His followers were so brutal during the first civil war, people were afraid to say his name ten years after the war had ended with his defeat.”

“And he returned to start another war?”

“Yes. More successfully, this time. He took control of the country in 1997 in a coup. We fought back, of course, but things were looking grim.”

“I see. The situation must have been dire indeed if you were fighting. Unless you’re older than your counterpart was.”

“I’m twenty-five years old.” Granger snorted, though she sounded bitter, not amused. “So, once I open the portal back, I might be returning to a war - or a country ruled by a monster.”

Ron tensed again. If Dumbledore decided that this was too much of a danger instead of an opportunity...

“But that would just be in Britain. Other countries wouldn’t be touched by the war, would they?”

“That depends on whether the Dark Lord won the civil war and decided to imitate Grindelwald and invade the rest of Europe.” Granger showed her teeth.

“I see.” Dumbledore chuckled softly. “Gellert will be interested in hearing about his counterpart’s exploits, I think. He was quite a bit more important in your world, then.”

“Yes. As was your counterpart,” Granger said. “He personally defeated Grindelwald in a duel.”

“Oh.” Dumbledore blinked. “I’m unsure whether I should be proud or sad about that.”

“Proud,” Granger replied.

“You mentioned that my counterpart was killed. At the hands of this tyrant?” Dumbledore sounded far too casual about the fate of his counterpart, in Ron’s opinion.

“Indirectly. As a result of a trap, he was slowly dying and decided to use his own death to let his best spy gain the tyrant’s trust,” Granger told him.

“Now that is a sound move,” Dumbledore said. “Noble, in a way, but certainly effective.” He rubbed his beard. “However, to let a young woman like yourself know about it seems a little careless.”

He was fishing for more information. Ron shook his head and spoke up before Granger’s pride drove her to reveal more secrets. “You don’t know the situation.”

“Unlike you.”

Ron shrugged. “Not in detail.”

“I was a member of your counterpart’s organisation,” Granger just had to explain. “He personally trained our cell for a special mission.”

“Despite your age?” Dumbledore tilted his head. “While only a fool would doubt your intelligence, you didn’t strike me as an agent.”

“Those are the best agents, aren’t they?” Ron interjected.

“Touché,” Dumbledore admitted. “However, I have a good eye for field agents, if I do say so myself.”

“And I don’t fit your mould, do I?” Granger retorted with a frown.

“Not exactly, no. And I generally preferred to recruit agents who had been extensively trained - not agents who had barely reached adulthood, no matter their talents.”

“We had proved our worth several times by the point we were recruited,” Granger shot back.

“We shouldn’t go into too much detail,” Ron reminded her. Judging by how flushed she became, she understood.

“I won’t pry,” Dumbledore remarked. “However, trust generates trust.”

“And some decisions shouldn’t be taken lightly or in haste,” Granger declared.

She meant well, and Ron agreed - but now Dumbledore knew that she was keeping an important secret. Well, perhaps he would think his counterpart had not been so sloppy in his training and suspect that it was disinformation.

“Of course. I assume you will want to discuss things with your backup as well. Please, take your time.”

Ron really hated the man’s smile.

*****

“A former government spymaster turned arms conglomerate corporate tycoon?” Luna asked wide-eyed.

Ron winced, bracing himself. He knew what was coming.

“He must be evil! Twice over!” Luna blurted out. “A key member of the shadow government conspiracy!”

Yes, Ron was quite glad they had taken the time to check themselves for listening devices.

“His lover is Gellert Grindelwald, a former counter-intelligence operative of the Third Reich. Grindelwald’s counterpart was one of the worst dark wizards ever known and almost conquered Magical Europe before Dumbledore’s counterpart stopped him,” Granger said. “Although I think they were a couple before that war.”

“Oh! That’s… That’s even worse!” Luna shook her head wildly. She started to pace in the small clearing in which they were gathered. 

“I don’t trust him. He’s far too smooth,” Harry said.

“Far too condescending, too,” Ron added.

“Your father trusts him, doesn’t he?” Granger asked.

“Dad owes him,” Ron replied. “He’s not exactly unbiased.”

“And he’s offering you his help because he plans to use dark magic to live forever!” Luna declared.

“As a muggle, his options for gaining immortality are rather slim,” Granger said. “But magic could be used to keep him fit and healthy for a number of years - not forever, of course. But ten, twenty, more years would be possible, I think.”

“What could a man with his power and influence do with two more decades?” Luna shuddered.

“But he is correct in that even after our names are cleared, I won’t be able to continue my work in peace. The government wouldn’t allow it,” Granger pointed out. “And I’ll be the target of other countries as well. As will the Grangers.”

“Do you trust him?” Harry asked. “He’s not the man you knew.”

“I know,” Granger said, frowning. “But it’s not about trusting him - it’s about trusting his motivation to be aligned with ours, I mean, mine. Sorry.” She shook her head. “I don’t think he’ll risk losing this chance at living longer.”

“Or at discovering more worlds ripe for the picking,” Ron added. “Once you finish your work, all bets will be off.”

“I know,” Granger replied through clenched teeth. “But he’s my best chance of going home.”

Ron pressed his lips together. She was probably correct. But he really didn’t like it.

“And he’s our best opportunity to finally reveal all the crimes and conspiracies the government covered up!” Luna stood straight, hands on her hips. “This is our chance to infiltrate his organisation! And help Hermione at the same time!”

Ron glanced at Harry. They couldn’t let the two women do this alone. And they couldn’t just knock them out and drag them away - they’d be back at the first opportunity.

He sighed.

*****

Dumbledore’s decades of experience as a spy and spymaster meant he wasn’t radiating satisfaction when they returned to his manor. Ron thought so, at least - the man’s polite manner had to be masking his glee. “Welcome back,” he said. “And welcome, Miss Lovegood.”

Ron nodded together with Harry and Granger as Luna frowned at the old man. “That remains to be seen, Mr Dumbledore.”

“I can assure you that I mean neither you nor your friends any harm,” Dumbledore replied. “Our interests align, after all.”

“Really?” Luna narrowed her eyes and stared at him. “Then it’s true that MI6 was also active in Britain!”

Dumbledore blinked at her. “Pardon?” 

“How else would you know what my interests are, if not by spying on me?” Luna explained.

“My dear, I retired from MI6 long before you finished school,” Dumbledore replied.

“But not from spying!” she retorted.

“That depends on your definition of spying, I believe.” The old man smiled.

“I think ‘violating people’s privacy’ covers spying perfectly,” Luna declared.

Dumbledore nodded. “Such actions are often needed, though, lest people lose something even more important.”

“That depends on your definition of ‘often’,” Luna shot back.

Dumbledore laughed at that. “Touché, Miss Lovegood.”

Luna smiled in return, but Ron could tell that it wasn’t an honest smile. He hoped that Dumbledore didn’t manage to read her as easily. Well, at least she hadn’t called him a merchant of death, oligarch or traitor to the country. 

“We’ve decided to accept your offer - provided the details fit our needs,” Granger said.

The old man smiled. “Of course.”

“Such as where you’d set up my new lab,” she went on. “And the Grangers’ safety.”

“I can arrange permanent protection for your family. Privately or through the government. As to the location of your laboratory, that depends entirely on you,” Dumbledore told her. “Our facilities in Germany would be safest, but we have a subsidiary in Britain as well.”

“Would that be in Scotland?”

“Why, yes. An isolated research facility in the highlands.”

“Of course it would be there.” Granger shook her head with a dry smile.

“However, you wouldn’t be able to move as freely as you could in Germany - your notoriety is quite a bit higher in Britain, so you’d have to go to greater lengths to maintain operational security.” Dumbledore spread his hands. “The decision is, of course, yours.”

But if they had to leave in a hurry, they would be closer to their own resources. And they would speak the language. Well, a form of it, Ron thought.

“But we’d stick out more in Germany,” Luna pointed out.

“You plan to keep Dr Granger company?” Dumbledore didn’t sound surprised.

“We always see things through on an assignment,” Harry said. His smile was more a challenge than a friendly gesture, Ron noted.

“That might not be well received by whoever ends up being the new leader of CI5,” Dumbledore pointed out.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ron said. “We’ll stick this out.”

Granger looked surprised for a moment, he noticed, before a brief smile appeared on her face. Truth be told - or not, in this case - Ron had surprised himself a little.

“If Dawlish takes over we’ll be screwed anyway,” Harry added.

“That man is such a bore.” Granger nodded.

Luna was beaming at them. Ron just knew she saw this as them finally ‘throwing off the shackles of the government’, as she had urged him to do in the past.

*****

Ron looked around, both out of habit and training, as he walked down the hallway connecting the guest rooms Dumbledore had offered them. He couldn’t spot any cameras, but he was certain there was at least one. Well, they had known there would be when they decided to accept the old man’s offer. That was also the reason he hadn’t gone into any details when he had called Dad - the ‘safe phone’ Dumbledore had provided would be bugged as well.

Granger opened the door a few seconds after he knocked. “Ah.” She didn’t seem to be surprised to see him. And she was already wearing her sleepwear, he noticed.

He nodded. “I trust everything’s alright with your room?” It was a pretext, and she knew it.

She pulled the door fully open. “Yes.”

He could see that her and Luna’s room was bigger than his and Harry’s. Two beds, two desks, a big armoire and a dresser. He could easily spot Luna’s bed - her clothes were spread out over it. Dumbledore had offered them all single rooms, but they had declined. Ron and Harry because even though Dumbledore was unlikely to move against them - there were easier ways to deal with the two of them - they felt safer rooming together. Granger and Luna because Luna had insisted, and Granger hadn’t objected.

She stepped to the side. It was as good an invitation as any, and he entered. 

“Luna’s in the bathroom,” she told him.

He nodded - he could hear the running water.

“By the way: thank you,” she said after closing the door.

He shrugged. “We see things through.”

“At the cost of your career?”

He shrugged again. “We can find other employment.” 

“The job market for police officers who went rogue might be a little…” She trailed off, wincing.

He smiled. “Things will work out. If all else fails, we can become private investigators.” They had planned that, as kids, after all.

“Would that offer a stable income?” She frowned as she sat down on her bed.

“Things will work out,” he said. This was more important. He knew it.

She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

She looked younger when she smiled, he noticed. Not as… hard, perhaps? Or driven. Almost… He shrugged once more and looked at the window - or, rather, the curtains covering it. “I didn’t become a police officer so I could leave people in need to fend for themselves.”

“Ah.”

“I didn’t mean that you were helpless,” he explained, looking at her. She wasn’t smiling any more. “Just, well… I don’t trust Dumbledore.”

Granger nodded slowly. “Understandable.” She wasn’t frowning, but her smile looked polite, not genuine, now - Ron could tell.

“So, I figure it’s best we stick together until this is over,” he said.

She nodded, then pursed her lips. “I don’t want you to feel obligated. Especially not if it means your life and career will be affected.” She was looking at the armoire, he noticed.

“You’re not a bother,” he replied, a little more sharply than he had intended. “Also, we can’t exactly hunt down Scrimgeour and Bones’s killers. Regulations.” And too many other agencies were involved now to be able to get around those pesky rules. “But protecting you, and foiling their plans to get you? That’ll hit them where it hurts.”

“Ah.” She inclined her head. “Does Harry think so as well? Ginny might disagree with his priorities.”

He had to snort at that. “Well, he hates leaving things unfinished. And Ginny can’t complain - she’s away too often for her job.” His sister would complain, of course - Ginny wasn’t the spoiled little princess any more, but part of her still thought she was special. More than she was, of course. Granger’s expression told him she didn’t believe him. Well, she had probably known Ginny’s counterpart. And she didn’t seem to have been convinced of his sincerity. He grinned at her. “Anyway, you’re stuck with us.”

“I’ll try to bear it,” she replied, with a grin of her own. And if her smile had made her look younger, her grin made her look… well, fun.

“I’ll try not to be too much of a burden.”

“Oh, hi, Ron!”

He turned his head. Luna was standing in the door to the bathroom, one towel wrapped around her body, the other around her hair. How had he missed that? Moody would have his head if he knew!

Luna walked in, tilting her head left and right with each step - to shake the water out of one ear without letting it flow deeper into the other, as she had once explained to him. “Are you plotting? Can I help?”

“We’re not plotting,” Granger said quickly. She wasn’t smiling or grinning now. “We were just discussing Ron… Mr Weasley’s plans for the future.”

“Oh! Are you still planning to become an astronaut?”

Ron closed his eyes for a moment. “I abandoned that idea before secondary school, Luna.” As she should know.

“You might have reconsidered - after all, you should never stop dreaming.” Luna sat down on Granger’s bed. “And Hermione here proves that even the most fantastical dreams can be real!”

She was correct, of course. Though Ron had a feeling that he was missing something.

*****

**Mould-on-the-Wold, Gloucestershire, Britain, July 12th, 2005**

Granger was scribbling down notes, Ron saw, as Luna, who was, for some reason, glaring at him, let him into their room. “Working?” he asked.

She looked up. “Not on my project.” She leaned back with a sigh. “I was finishing the list of my… allies.”

“Oh.”

“Have finished, I think. I don’t think I’ve missed anyone.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

That explained Luna’s reaction - Granger must have recalled some very unpleasant memories doing that. She might’ve had a flashback or two as well. “Sorry,” he said.

“What?” Granger looked at him. Then she shook her head. “I decided to do this. It’s not your fault.”

“We asked you to,” he replied.

“Asked. The decision was mine.” She pressed her lips together.

He suppressed a sigh. Stubborn to a fault. She wouldn’t even accept his apology.

“We shouldn’t have asked you to do this!” Luna exclaimed.

Granger smiled at Luna, tilting her head slightly. “It’s OK.”

“It’s not!”

Ignoring the unfair difference in how Granger treated them, Ron walked up to her desk. “That’s the list?” he asked, ignoring Luna’s frowning pout.

“Yes.” Granger reached out and picked it up, then held it up for him to take. “Here.”

He skimmed the list. Harry and his counterparts’ were the first names, of course. He looked at her, and she smiled, shrugging.

“Best start at the top.”

He snorted, then read on. Luna. Ginny. Fred. George, Percy… everyone from his counterpart’s family was next, with the exception of Aunt Muriel. Granger had probably never met the old battleaxe. All of them were alive, or had been when Granger had left her world, he noted with relief. Which vanished when he remembered that Granger had left her world in the middle of a battle and wouldn’t know what had happened in the years since. 

Dumbledore - deceased. Severus Snape - deceased. He’d apparently been… “A teacher?” he asked.

“Ron!” Luna stepped up to him, hands on her hips, and huffed. “Stop!”

Granger, though, chuckled. “Perhaps get Harry so we only have to go over it once?”

Harry was currently resting - they had traded guard shifts - but he wouldn’t want to miss this, Ron knew. And Harry preferred directly hearing testimony instead of hearing about it. “I’ll get him.”

He dropped the list and went to fetch Harry. As expected, Harry wanted to see the list.

“So, Snape?” Ron asked.

“Snape?” Harry blinked. 

“He was a childhood friend of my Harry’s mother and hated his father and Sirius. He had an acerbic temper and was very smart, but also incredibly petty and cruel - I only ever saw him smile when he was punishing someone.”

“Ah. Sirius mentioned him,” Harry said - in a tone that closed that subject for further discussion.

Which, of course, didn’t stop Granger from adding: “He was one of our teachers - and a double-agent working for Dumbledore. He got caught helping us, though, and was murdered.”

“McGonagall?”

“Another teacher. And our Head of House at school. Flitwick was a teacher as well,” she said, mentioning the next name on the list.

“Sirius died?” Harry exclaimed. “You didn’t mention that!”

“No, I didn’t,” she said. “It was rather brutal.”

Ron saw her and Harry stare at each other and cleared his throat. “Remus Lupin was also your teacher?”

“Yes. For a year. He was one of our best.”

“He’s dead,” Harry told her.

“Oh. Illness?” Granger asked.

“Yes,” Harry said.

Ron had never met the man, though Harry, and especially Sirius, had often talked about him. Magic had probably cured his counterpart. “So many teachers. Did they recruit your entire school?” he asked.

“More or less. Dumbledore had a lot of friends among the teachers, and we students, well… many of us started training when we realised that there would be a war, and that we couldn’t count on the Ministry.”

“Oh!” Luna held a hand in front of her mouth. “They recruited children as soldiers?”

“We decided to fight,” Granger told her.

“But they let you,” Harry retorted.

“They had no choice. The Dark Lord’s followers were hunting us - many of us - anyway. And my Harry was… linked to the Dark Lord. As his best friends, we wouldn’t let him face that monster alone.” Granger once more met Harry’s eyes. “We’ve been fighting against him in one form or another since we started school together.”

“Crazy,” Harry muttered. 

Well, Ron could understand not leaving a friend alone. “Fleur Delacour?”

“Bill’s wife.”

The other Bill was married? “Is she French?” Ron asked.

“Yes. And the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Granger added.

Probably some sort of siren, then. Ron nodded. That would do it - his Bill wouldn’t marry any time soon, no matter how much Mum tried to prod him.

“Justin Finch-Fletchley. Ernie MacMillan.” Both deceased.

“They were in our year.”

Neither had been at Ron and Harry’s school. He read on. “Colin and his brother died?”

“Yes,” she replied in a flat voice.

Ron skimmed the list and winced. No wonder Luna was so mad at him and Harry - there really were a lot of dead people on this list.

*****

Dumbledore was already seated at the head of the table when they entered the dining room - or salon, as he called it - but there was also another man present, standing to the side with a trolley loaded with covered plates. The first member of Dumbledore’s staff they had seen so far - though Ron was certain that there were quite a few bodyguards - or assassins - in the manor. You couldn't keep such a building ready for visitors, much less safely guarded, without a lot of people. “This is Johann,” the old man told them. “He’s handling the cooking and serving.”

A sort of butler, Ron guessed. He was certainly dressed to fit the part. And while he wasn’t young by any measure, he didn’t move like an old man either. Military or similar training would be Ron’s guess.

“I hope you had a pleasant morning,” Dumbledore went on. “I apologise for not joining you for breakfast, but I was detained by a few minor yet pressing matters.”

“No problem,” Harry said in a bland tone as he took his seat.

“We managed,” Luna told him. “My compliments to you,” she added, smiling at Johann. “The scones were delicious. The bread was a little too dark, though.”

“That would be my fault,” Dumbledore apologised as the other man nodded and started to serve lunch. “Gellert has pretty much banned white bread from our table - he has strong opinions on bread and the documentation to back them up. I stopped challenging him on this point long ago.”

“Dark bread is healthier as well,” Granger added.

“So people say. I’ve never quite acquired a taste for it, but please don’t tell him that,” Dumbledore said with a wink.

Whatever his other skills, Johann was a great cook, Ron found out as the first course - Alsace tarte flambée - was served. Luna shared his opinion and made no secret out of it - at least Dumbledore found her moans amusing rather than rude. Unlike Aunt Muriel.

“A speciality of his,” Dumbledore commented. “Alas, Johann’s recipe is one of the secrets I’ve never managed to acquire.”

A hint that he was working on Granger’s secrets, of course. Well, while he had undoubtedly put them under surveillance, they weren’t about to discuss the truth openly anyway. Although… they might attempt a double-bluff: talk about magic and make Dumbledore think they were using ‘magic’ as code for something. No… Dumbledore knew Granger was from another world; he wouldn’t simply dismiss the supernatural. And Moody had always cautioned them against being too clever for their own good - not that Ron had needed much cautioning with Fred and George as negative examples.

The main course - roast with a variant of hollandaise sauce - was served with a small card for Dumbledore. The old man read it, then frowned. 

“What’s happened?” Harry asked at once.

“It seems Mr Yaxley has disappeared,” Dumbledore replied. “I didn’t expect this so soon.”

“‘So soon’?” Ron asked. Had Dumbledore suspected Yaxley? And why hadn’t he told anyone?

“It was obvious that this was, at the very least partially, an inside job. Mr Yaxley was among the most obvious suspects, and in light of the attention this has gathered, it was inevitable that the culprit would be discovered. However, I expected it to take a little longer - Mr Yaxley doesn’t seem to have covered his tracks well enough.”

“He could have been murdered by the kidnappers,” Granger pointed out.

“Theoretically possible - but the murderers didn’t bother to hide their first victims, did they? So, if he was killed by them, then it’s still more likely that he was their inside man and they dealt with a loose end. Ruthless, but efficient. If they are playing the long game, they might even use this to frame others - and sow some more discord amongst our various departments.” Dumbledore sounded almost impressed.

“And if he wasn’t?” Luna asked.

“Then he wasn’t cautious enough despite two dramatic examples of the danger. Although under the circumstances, I don’t think he could have been easily killed unless he was deliberately avoiding the police and MI5 operatives and, therefore, bereft of their protection,” Dumbledore told her.

“He’s running,” Harry said.

“That would be my assumption as well - though is he running from his accomplices or superiors, or from the authorities?” Dumbledore spread his hands.

“Those could be one and the same!” Luna interjected.

“They could be, yes - but if our government were behind the attacks on Dr Granger, I dare say they would have gone differently. More competently, for one thing.” Dumbledore sounded almost offended at the ‘tradecraft’ of whoever was hunting them, or so it seemed to Ron.

“The government isn’t infallible - quite the contrary!” Luna insisted.

Ron cleared his throat - he had heard that rant before. “If he’s running, the police should uncover his involvement soon.”

“At which point you will have to decide whether or not you’ll return to CI5,” Dumbledore pointed out.

“We’ve discussed that. We’ll stick with Dr Granger,” Ron told him.

“Splendid! Such loyalty should be rewarded! Allow me to cover your expenses.” The old man beamed at them.

Ron had seen more subtle attempts to bribe him. But they could use the money - provided it wasn’t dirty. Which, he had to admit, was a distinct possibility. But to refuse would probably cause more trouble - the police would be trying to track their and Sirius’s money. “Thank you, sir,” he said.

“It’s my pleasure. With that settled… Dr Granger, do you have an idea where Mr Yaxley’s counterpart might seek refuge?”

“No, I don’t. He didn’t manage to escape us.”

“Ah.” Dumbledore sighed. “That would have facilitated matters.”

“I don’t think you can rely on such details,” Granger told him. “For example, your counterpart was the headmaster of a boarding school as well as an internationally famous politician. At the same time,” she added.

Once more, Dumbledore looked surprised for a moment. Then he chuckled. “How curious, yet fitting, in a way. But do you know what friends and allies the Yaxley of your world did have?”

Granger drew a hissing breath.

*****

_“Justin and Ernie are dead.”_

_“What?” She looked at Ron, blinking. Had he just told her…?_

_He shook his head and held out the Daily Prophet. “They’ve got pictures on page two. Not front-page news, I guess,” he added with a hollow chuckle._

_She took the newspaper and turned the page, then hissed through clenched teeth. The Death Eaters had taken pictures of the two dying. And the Daily Prophet had printed them - claiming Justin had killed Ernie. Another ‘rabid mudblood’ killing a poor, trusting pureblood while ‘trying to steal his magic’. It had to have been the Imperius Curse! This was… this was… She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand._

_“We can’t let them get away with this,” Harry snarled - when had he entered the tent?_

_“We’ve got our mission,” she replied immediately. They couldn’t start attacking Death Eaters - other Order members would be doing that._

_“I know!” he spat. “But this… We can’t let them get away with it,” he repeated himself._

_“We won’t. But for now we have to focus on our mission.”_

_“But once we’re done...” Ron bared his teeth. “According to the Prophet, Runcorn’s in charge of these ‘investigations of muggleborns’. He’s a friend of Yaxley’s.”_

_So, Runcorn was responsible for this. She nodded. “Let’s make a list._ _So we won’t forget.”_

*****


	10. The Black Lake

**Mould-on-the-Wold, Gloucestershire, Britain, July 12th, 2005**

Granger had another flashback. She didn’t cry out, or even tremble, but the way she tensed and blinked after staring at the wall was telling - Ron knew her well enough by now.

“Dr Granger?” And, of course, Dumbledore hadn’t missed it, either.

She sighed. “I was trying to recall with whom Yaxley associated in my world.” A blatant lie, Ron thought.

“Ah. I apologise if that brought up unpleasant memories.”

Granger nodded in response. “Don’t worry. Yaxley wasn’t a… particularly bad memory.”

If that wasn’t a polite lie, then Ron wondered what Granger’s worst memories were. And whether he wanted to know. She hid it well, but she was like one of those soldiers who had been in Iraq. Or, given her age, like a recovering child soldier.

“Ah.”

“Not because he wasn’t an irredeemable mass-murderer, but because we got him,” she added with a smile that utterly lacked any humour.

Luna was covering her mouth with both hands now, eyes wide - she really didn’t deal well with these kinds of things, despite her wish to know all sorts of dark government secrets - but Dumbledore merely nodded again. Probably reclassifying her, Ron thought.

“In any case, I don’t know who he considered friends, but my version of Yaxley was working closely with Albert Runcorn and Dolores Umbridge when he was having civilians murdered. Presumably, he was friends with other Death Eaters and bigots.” She pulled out a copy of her list of enemies. “However, and I stress this, our worlds are different enough that you cannot assume that people are the same.” She smiled grimly. “You and your partner are the best examples we’ve seen of that so far.”

Dumbledore’s smile didn’t waver at the implied criticism. “Quite so, my dear. However, it’s still useful information from which we might glean some insights. When I was still in Her Majesty’s Secret Service, I was often forced to work with far less information.”

Ron ignored the glance Granger sent to Harry and him. It was sound reasoning, after all, so it was to be expected that other people would use it as well. “That was our thought also.”

Once more, Dumbledore smiled at him as if Ron were a student who had just answered a teacher’s question correctly.

The old man skimmed the list. “There are some quite prominent people on this list and a few infamous ones, as well.”

“A fish rots from the head down,” Luna said. “Such conspiracies as well.”

“Not all of them were part of the conspiracy,” Granger pointed out. “Many merely switched allegiance to the new regime once the government had been toppled.” With a deep scowl, she added: “And they proved to be far more skilled at murdering the innocent than they had been at battling the traitors.”

“Murdering civilians is usually far easier than fighting terrorists,” Dumbledore commented.

To Ron’s relief, Luna didn’t ask if the former spymaster had practical experience with both.

“In any case, I don’t think we can cover all those people,” the old man went on. “Although I trust that the police will be investigating all of Mr Yaxley’s friends and family as a matter of course. According to my sources, they certainly have the resources to do so.”

“They better,” Harry mumbled, “or Moody will make them regret it.”

“Officer Moody tends to leave an impression,” Dumbledore said, nodding at Harry. 

Did he know Moody, or just of Moody and was trying to appear more knowledgeable than he actually was? Ron couldn’t tell.

“However, I think a few anonymous tips might point the police to possible allies of Mr Yaxley of whom they are as yet unaware.” Dumbledore grinned. “And I expect that in a few cases, a little police attention might uncover something unrelated to the current scandal but nevertheless incriminating.”

“Oh, include the Malfoys,” Harry told him. “We’ve got two possible links to the family now.”

“Which aren’t reliable,” Granger quickly pointed out again.

Harry shrugged. “As long as Malfoy gets into trouble, who cares?” 

Ron nodded in agreement.

“If nothing comes of it, it might result in the source of said accusation losing their credibility,” Granger retorted.

“Oh, don’t fret about that, my dear,” Dumbledore said in a patronising tone that set Ron’s teeth on edge. “I’ll make sure that it is stressed that the original source is untried, and that the only reason such untested intelligence is being passed along is the severity of the current situation. No actual source will be compromised by this, I can assure you of that.”

Granger pressed her lips together - she was probably annoyed at the man’s attitude as well - but she didn’t contest his words. Not directly. “That presumes that Yaxley hasn’t fled to his supposed backers.”

“Indeed. Though they might be people whose counterparts are on your list,” Dumbledore replied. “It’s certainly a decent hypothesis and makes it well worth going through a few names on the list.” 

“As long as that’s limited to investigating,” Ron said, wondering how often the old man had given orders to eliminate someone, based purely on suspicion, with the same smile.

“Of course,” Dumbledore replied, sounding so sincere, Ron almost believed him. But, after a moment, the old man continued: “More information about the people on the list might help us narrow down the number of likely suspects.”

“It might also make you miss the real culprit based on preconceptions,” Harry replied, cutting off Granger, who scowled at him.

“I can assure you that I know how to handle such information, Mr Potter. I’ve done so for decades.” Dumbledore inclined his head. “In any case, with Mr Yaxley on the run, it shouldn’t be too long before his plot is unravelled. However, you might be expected to give testimony as well.”

“We are the key people in this case, I suppose,” Granger acknowledged. “But can we afford to do that?”

“It would be more difficult for you to evade the various organisations who are already, and will become, interested in your work, should you talk to the police,” Dumbledore told her.

“Dawlish would want to lock you up,” Ron admitted. “And we’d be under investigation for a while.”

Harry scoffed at that.

“And the press would hound you,” Luna added. “Unwittingly, or knowingly in some specifically despicable cases, working for the people pulling their strings!”

“The press can be far more easily handled than professionals,” Dumbledore pointed out. “But without presenting yourself to your colleagues and fellow police officers investigating this affair, you might find it hard to be cleared, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley. Les absents ont toujours tort, n’est-ce pas?”

“The absent party is always to blame,” Granger translated without being asked.

“We learned French in school,” Harry told her, sounding a little peeved.

“Sorry,” she replied, looking a little embarrassed.

“In my experience, few English schools will teach you a foreign language to a competent level,” Dumbledore interjected. “It’s quite reasonable to assume that you might have forgotten what you learned since your A-levels. I certainly had to have private tutoring, and had to spend quite some time with a number of French refugees, before I mastered the language.”

“Well, I don’t speak French very well,” Luna said. “So, thank you, Hermione.” She beamed at the woman while Harry scowled.

“Anyway,” Ron spoke up before Dumbledore could continue trying to divide them, “what shall we do now? Stay here until the laboratory in Scotland is ready?”

“I think Dr Granger’s presence while it’s being set up would be helpful. You know best what you need, after all, Dr Granger, and so you could have things arranged just how you like - within reason, of course. However, your entire group might be a little less than inconspicuous. It’s not a serious threat - I trust the employees assigned to that task - but a slight risk would remain. And the threat of boredom, of course.” Dumbledore spread his hands with a smile. “I understand, though, that you feel safer while staying together. I would as well, in your place.”

Ron refrained from glaring at the old man. That was an obvious ploy. Make it sound logical to split up? Less trouble for everyone while Granger was alone with him and his men? On the other hand, Dumbledore would know that they would see through such an offer. So why would he make it? Just to appear more honest?

“Why would we be bored? I, for one, have never been to an actual black site!” Luna piped up with a wide grin.

Was Dumbledore’s smile growing strained? Or was that what he wanted them to think? Ron couldn’t tell. Not yet. “To Scotland, then?” he asked. “Or do you need a little more time to prepare lodgings for us?”

“That depends on how much comfort you expect,” Dumbledore replied. “The current accommodations for staff are a little spartan, since the laboratory is not currently used for anything sensitive.”

“We can rough it,” Harry said at once.

Ron stopped himself from narrowing his eyes at Harry. His friend wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean they _had_ to rough it. But Granger, who had been prepared to spend years in the wilderness, or so it seemed, would never disagree with that claim, and Luna was too eager to see the secret laboratory of a weapons research corporation. “We can go after we’ve spoken with Dad,” he announced.

“Splendid!” Dumbledore beamed at them. 

*****

“You won’t return to CI5, then.”

Dad didn’t sound thrilled - Ron could tell even through the phone. “No,” he replied. “We’ll be staying with Dr Granger. Too much has happened to leave her before the whole affair has been resolved.”

“Isn’t the main suspect on the run?”

“Yes. But we don’t know who’s backing him.” Ron started pacing in his and Harry’s room.

“Are you planning to investigate the case by yourself?”

“No. We’ll be protecting Dr Granger.” Although if they found a lead…

“CI5 won’t like it. Your mother won’t like it.”

“Mum’s always nagging me to stick with a girl,” Ron joked, “and now that I’m doing it, it’s not OK, either?”

Dad laughed, but it sounded forced. Then he sighed. “I’ll tell her.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Be careful, Son.”

“Always,” Ron lied.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 13th, 2005**

It was an idyllic location Dumbledore had chosen for his - and probably Grindelwald’s - secret lab in Britain. At least Ron thought so. A decent sized lake, surrounded by forests and hills, mountains rising a little further away. The closest village was an hour away by car - they had timed it when they had passed through on the way here, in Dumbledore’s car. Quite isolated, indeed.

And well camouflaged - from here, the lab looked like an unassuming historic manor on the shores of the lake, probably built with stone taken from the nearby ruins. Spending time here might almost feel like a vacation. At least during summer - he wasn’t keen on all the snow and ice that would replace the lush vegetation come winter.

“To think such a peaceful place hides a black lab!” Luna exclaimed next to him, shaking her head before she suddenly froze for a moment. “On the other hand, ‘Black Lake’ - it’s almost a sign! Perhaps this is merely disinformation… or a double-bluff! We might need to explore the lake.”

Ron checked, discreetly, once more that there were no microphones hidden nearby - or aimed at them. Their ‘guide’ was far back, out of hearing range, and they were too far away from the building itself - that was the reason they had taken a walk around the lake, after all. But it was the bug you didn’t look for which would usually ruin your plans. So far he hadn’t found anything, though. That didn’t mean anything, of course.

“I’m more interested in how they managed to construct a lab here,” Harry said, “without anyone noticing. There’s only so much you can mask as ‘renovations’.”

“You can hide a lot,” Ron told him. “And hardly anyone would bother to track the exact amount of building materials when there isn’t a border crossing involved. Add a fake ‘unstable shore’ you need to stabilise with concrete, and you have a cover for a lot of excavation work as well. And an explanation for concrete walls under the soil.”

“How cunning!” Luna nodded. “I should have known that English Heritage would be part of the conspiracy!”

Ron suppressed a chuckle - he knew she was serious. And, truth be told, he wasn’t entirely certain English Heritage - or, rather, Historic Scotland in this case - wasn’t involved. They visited a lot of old manors where the rich and powerful were often found. What better cover for a spy?

Granger was uncharacteristically silent. They had expected that, of course - ever since she had discovered their destination. And recognised it. She was staring at the house across the lake. No, at the hill behind it.

“So, that’s where your boarding school was?” he asked, in a low voice. He hadn’t found any microphones, and the odds of Dumbledore having bugged the entire area were slim, but it felt better to lower your voice.

“Yes,” she replied, slowly nodding. “Over there. What a coincidence!”

He shrugged. He didn’t think it was a coincidence. And he didn’t think Granger thought so, either. “It might be a location that’s important in every world,” he said.

“Fixed points in geography?” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Adapted from Dr Who’s fixed points in time?”

“Not quite, actually,” he replied. “But there were similar concepts in some books I read.”

“Fantasy books.” She made it sound as if they were pornography.

“Yes. About magic and dimensional travel.” He didn’t hide his smirk overly well when she pursed her lips.

“If that’s true, then this might be an ideal location for my work.”

He blinked. She wasn’t dismissing it out of hand?

Before he could say anything, though, she rolled her eyes. “I’m not so stubborn as to reject a decent hypothesis without testing,” she said.

“Only nearly as stubborn, then?” he asked, grinning.

She snorted. “Not as nearly as you are annoying,” she shot back - her grin taking the sting out of her words. Most of it, at least.

He laughed. “I try my best.” After a moment, he added: “My counterpart wasn’t fond of reading?”

She frowned at him. “Why would you say that?”

“You always seem a little surprised when I mention my hobby.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “He wasn’t an avid reader - unless it involved Quidditch. But we all had to read a lot for school. I can’t judge him for choosing not to spend the rest of his free time on reading.”

But perhaps she had done so anyway? Should he ask? It was a sensitive topic - almost everything about Granger’s home world was.

“Did Ginny and Luna’s counterparts fight?” Harry asked before Ron could find the right words.

“They weren’t in a front-line cell,” Granger replied.

“But they fought,” Harry went on. Ron saw he was clenching his teeth. How long had his friend been wanting to ask?

“Luna helped her father run an underground newspaper,” Granger said. “I told you that already.”

“Yes, you did!” Luna piped up.

“And Ginny?” Harry’s jaw was set - he wouldn’t leave this alone, Ron knew.

“Helped Luna and others, mostly as a courier.”

That sounded rather dangerous. “Courier?” Ron asked.

“On her broom. She’s an excellent flyer. Everyone said she’d fly for a professional team after school - if not for the war.”

Ah, yes. Flying brooms. Granger had mentioned them, but Ron still had trouble accepting that they were real. Brooms.

“She wasn’t trying to smuggle weapons through roadblocks and past patrols, if you were imagining such things,” Granger went on.

“No. She was just trying to outfly patrols in the sky,” Harry retorted. “As a sixteen-year-old.”

“She fought Death Eaters at fifteen. As did Luna,” Granger replied matter-of-factly - which Ron thought was a front since he could see that she was tense. “Harry killed a possessed wizard when he was eleven. Ginny was possessed at eleven. She almost killed several students, myself included, and was nearly sacrificed in a dark ritual before Harry and Ron saved her.” She nodded towards the hill on the other side of the lake. “It happened right there. At school.”

What the hell! “You didn’t mention that before,” Ron said, frowning at her.

She shrugged. “I prefer to remember the good times,” she told them with a smile. “I was happy at Hogwarts.”

“Even with all the fights and the war?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

“The war really started after we had left Hogwarts.”

Which said a lot about how much worse it must have gotten, Ron realised.

“It was a civil war,” she said with a sad-looking smile, “with all that entails. Death squads were hunting down anyone who might resist the new regime - and anyone who had been born to the wrong parents - while the government covered the country with its vile propaganda, riling up the majority of the population against the minorities. And we - the Order - fought back with everything we had, using every dirty trick we knew. We had to. Defeat meant death, or worse.”

Ron wasn’t about to ask what she meant by ‘worse’. He had a pretty good idea.

“Sounds like the partisans in World War Two, just with magic,” Harry remarked.

“It’s an apt comparison. The Death Eaters classified people like the Nazis did - purebloods, half-bloods and ‘mudbloods’. And they planned to murder all those of ‘tainted blood’.” She scoffed with an expression of loathing on her face.

“And we’re currently staying in a building co-owned by a supposedly former Nazi spy.” Harry was looking at Granger out of the corners of his eyes while facing the lake, Ron noticed.

“You agreed that it was the best option,” Granger replied. She sounded rather defensive.

“We all did,” Ron said before Harry could reply. 

“Yes.” Luna nodded emphatically. “We knew the risks! And we have a goal! Exposing the truth about their secret arms research! And getting Hermione home.”

Harry frowned but nodded. “As long as you can handle it.”

“I’ve handled worse,” she told him. “Besides, in this world, I’m not a member of a persecuted minority.”

“That’s not true,” Luna pointed out. “You’re the only witch in our world, and witches were and are persecuted.”

Granger seemed at a loss for words, Ron noticed. He chuckled at her expression. “So… let’s finish our walk?” They were about halfway around the lake, after all.

“Yes,” Granger quickly agreed, then led them on.

“Was all this part of the school?” Luna asked a few minutes later.

“It belonged to Hogwarts, but it wasn’t part of the school proper,” Granger replied. “That means it wasn’t protected by the school’s defences, either, though we had an actual path to walk around the lake, not a trail.”

“Ah.”

“We didn’t really leave the castle that often, apart from visiting the village on special weekends, and, in summer, spending time at the lake. The Forbidden Forest was dangerous - hostile centaurs, a pack of magic wolves, an entire colony of Acromantulas…”

“Acromantulas?”

“Giant, intelligent, man-eating spiders.”

Ron shuddered and eyed the forest she had indicated. There were no magic creatures, much less spiders, here. Giant spiders would collapse under their own weight without magic. Or suffocate. It was… Damn. He pressed his lips together: “Remember: No testing the Shrinking Solution out here.”

“I’m not wasting an irreplaceable resource for your amusement,” Granger told him with a huff.

“The thought of being a tiny human surrounded by dangerous animals that would be giant-sized in comparison isn’t particularly amusing,” he retorted.

“Oh.” She blinked, then shrugged. “It’s a moot point, anyway - if we’re forced to use our escape plan, we won’t care about a possible threat by animals.”

Ron disagreed on principle, but it wasn’t worth making an issue out of it.

“Did you often go swimming?” Luna asked after a moment.

“Occasionally. Not too often - most of the year, it was too cold for that. Also, the lake was the home of a village of merpeople,” Granger replied. “And they were territorial.”

Her expression told Ron that this was another sore subject. He shook his head - despite all that, she wanted to go back. She was too stubborn for her own good.

*****

By the time they returned to the laboratory, it had started to rain, though it was barely more than a drizzle - not enough to require an umbrella. It still felt nice to get out of it, of course. 

“Welcome back,” the head of the facility’s security greeted them with all the warmth of a robot.

Another difference to Granger’s world, Ron thought. Argus Filch had been her school’s janitor. And a ‘squib’ - someone born to a wizard family, but lacking the talent for magic. He had been ‘understandably embittered by his treatment in Wizarding Britain’, as Granger had explained. This Filch, though, didn’t seem embittered at all. Just cold. And he was carrying at least two guns.

And Ron was certain that the middle-aged man knew how to use them. He had the look of a veteran soldier. Or a career criminal. 

“Would you like a tour of the projected lab area?” Filch asked.

“Yes, please,” Granger, predictably, replied at once.

“Are you coming along?” Filch asked, tilting his head fractionally towards them.

“Of course!” Luna piped up, pulling out her notebook.

Harry and Ron nodded. They had to stick together here. Granger was correct in assuming that if Dumbledore wished them harm, he didn’t have to go to these lengths to get them to lower their guard, but Ron didn’t trust the old man not to pull something underhanded.

After all, situations and plans changed all the time.

“Follow me, please,” Filch said, then turned and led them towards the lifts in the back. The man didn’t seem concerned about being attacked from behind, so he was either very trusting, convinced Harry and Ron wouldn’t suddenly turn on Dumbledore or had someone covering him.

Ron hadn’t spotted a hidden shooter or guard, yet, but he didn’t take Filch for the overly trusting type - someone like Dumbledore wouldn’t have hired the man as head of security if he were. Well, neither would Ron in Dumbledore’s place. That didn’t mean Ron would trust either of the two men.

They entered the lift - which, Ron noted, had doors with a much better seal than regular lifts, and larger air ducts as well - and descended to the basement. About two and a half floors, Ron guessed.

The doors opened with a slight hiss - overpressure in the shaft? That was a thing in a number of books Ron had read - and entered a room that seemed to cover the entire footprint of the building.

“It’s pretty bare right now, but furniture’s on the way. And the generators are in working order,” Filch announced, pointing towards three huge generators in the corner.

Granger looked impressed for a moment before she schooled her features. “That looks like it’ll cover my power needs - provided you can keep them fueled. And soundproofed.”

“That won’t be a problem. We have ample storage capacity,” Filch replied.

Which, of course, begged the question of what Dumbledore had been planning to do with this building before he had offered it to Granger. Ron studied the floor for a moment. It was freshly cleaned - no dust on it. But there were scratches on the floor, and the generators had been here for a while.

“What did you use this room for before turning it into Hermione’s lab?” Luna asked. “Advanced weapons research?”

“I’m not privy to that information,” Filch deflected her question with an utterly bland expression.

Luna frowned at him, pouting. “Really? Wouldn’t it be part of your duties as security chief to know that? How could you protect the staff otherwise, if anything went wrong?”

“We’ve got procedures for everything,” Filch replied.

“Everything? Even spills of radioactive mutagens?” Luna asked.

“Yes.” Filch’s grin was anything but friendly, and even Luna seemed taken aback - for a moment.

She perked up at once. “So there are such compounds!”

“I didn’t say that,” Filch back-pedalled. “Director Dumbledore has a sometimes eccentric sense of humour.”

“I bet!” Luna replied, nodding several times. She was still taking notes, of course. And if Filch thought that that was the end of it… Well, he didn’t know her as well as Ron did.

“Alright. With the generators there, and this much power…” Granger was walking through the room, pacing it. “The quantum mirror cage needs to be here.” She pointed at a spot on the ground. “Otherwise, it might be influenced by the magnetic fields of the generators. And I’ll need ample free space around it, with walls here and here. Office space, two standard desks, three filing cabinets, the best computer you can buy - here.”

“And a cot or two, for quick naps,” Ron added with a grin.

She blinked, then nodded. “Excellent idea!” Turning to Filch, she went on: “Yes, I need a bed here as well.”

“You have quarters above.”

“Yes. But sometimes, I’ll want to take a nap without leaving the lab and wasting time,” she retorted. “There’s enough space for a good bed.”

“Alright.” Filch sounded bland as before, but Ron thought he caught a glimpse of annoyance in the man’s eyes.

Ron grinned behind the man’s back. Granger had that effect if you didn’t know her well. But she grew on you. Well, probably not on Filch. Ron still didn’t have the man’s measure - could be a former spy, former soldier or former criminal - but he was pretty sure that the man would never like being ordered around by a girl half his age, no matter her brilliance.

“So, how long will it take to get the lab up and running?” he asked, making a point of looking around the bare room.

“Two weeks, as far as I know,” Filch replied. “I’m no expert, though.”

“As soon as the computers arrive, I can start working. Most of the heavier equipment is required for practical experiments, but there’s still some theoretical work to be done. However, even that sort of research will involve experiments at some point,” Granger said. “You’ll have to be careful, though, or some of the specialised equipment will lead others to us.”

“That’s being handled.” Filch didn’t quite snap, but it was obvious that he wanted to tell Granger off for telling him how to do his job.

Granger, though, either missed that or ignored it. “Good. Now, we’ll also need to purchase some personal effects. Books, clothes, those sorts of things.”

“Just give us a list,” Filch told her.

“Oh, free stuff!” Luna exclaimed - as if she’d trust anything purchased by Dumbledore’s agents without checking it thoroughly first. “What about conjugal visits?”

“What?”

“Conjugal visits, you know, when your spouse…”

“I know what they are!” Filch snapped. A possible hint that he had been in prison, perhaps?

“Good!” Luna continued, seemingly unflappable. “It only concerns Harry right now, but any one of us might find a life partner in the future, so how’s that being handled?”

“Not by a list, I hope,” Harry added with a grin.

“This is a secure site. No visitors are allowed.”

“So we’ll have to go out to meet our respective and prospective sexual partners? I guess it’s traditional - many people go clubbing for that purpose…” Luna pulled on her lower lip with the fingers of her left hand. 

Ron smirked - behind Filch’s back. Luna was a treat, even though he couldn’t tell how serious she was right now, either. But that was part of her charm.

“Clubbing?” Filch blinked.

“Yes. Young people - and we are still young by most sane definitions - often go clubbing. The nightclub and dance venue thing. Not the killing baby seals thing, you know.”

“That’s a security risk.”

“That’s why we’re asking you as the Head of Security,” Luna went on. Her tone added a clearly understood, if silent, ‘you dummy’ to her sentence.

Ron glanced at Granger. She was not even bothering to hide her own smirk, he noticed.

He approved.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 14th, 2005**

“Allons enfants de la Patrie-i-i-e! Le jour de gloire est arrivé!”

Luna was in better shape than Ron had expected. Even after a light jog - or, for half the route, a more or less quick march - halfway around the lake, she still had enough breath to sing the French national anthem. Granger, however, could barely keep up, Ron noticed.

He called a break. “Let’s rest a little.”

Granger collapsed on the grass, chest heaving. “I need to get in better shape,” she wheezed.

“Yes,” Harry told her in a flat voice, which earned him a glare. She didn’t say anything, though. Just pulled on the black top of her sweatsuit to let more air through and fiddled with the straps on the backpack containing her magic bag.

Luna sat down next to her. Her own sweatsuit bore all the colours of the rainbow - she had, apparently, managed to find one that had been used in a paintball match with stains that hadn’t come out in the wash. At least Harry and Ron had sensible grey sweatsuits. “We need to tell Mr Miller to pick a menu in honour of the fourteenth of July,” she said. “Something French.”

“Last I checked, most of his menus were based on French cuisine,” Granger remarked.

“Well, something extra-French, then,” Luna replied, undaunted. “Dinner was excellent.”

Ron nodded. He preferred his chips thick and with vinegar. But the pommes frites had been tasty. And the filets…

“Don’t drool,” Harry said, in a dry voice.

Ron frowned at his friend. “Mum’s a much better cook.”

“Of course she is. But that doesn’t mean that the food here’s bad.”

“The Mrs Weasley I knew cooked much better, too,” Granger cut in.

“You’ll have to visit Mum and Dad,” Ron said without thinking, “so you can compare their meals.”

“I’d love to,” Granger replied before blinking. “Well, if it’s possible one day,” she added, “without endangering your family, of course.”

“Of course,” Ron said, nodding.

“You’ll have to visit when Molly’s making her roast,” Luna told her.

“She’ll do requests when Ron’s bringing a girl.” Harry chuckled.

Ron frowned at him, then started to stretch. Although Harry wasn’t entirely wrong - Mum went all-out if any of her boys brought home a girl. Which was part of the reason none of Ron’s brothers had yet married.

Granger was stretching too, now. Though she wasn’t doing it right, he noticed. He stopped and went over to her. “You need to lean in more,” he told her.

“What?”

“You need to lean in more.” He demonstrated. ”Like this.”

“I’m trying,” she snapped.

“Let me help.” He reached out and adjusted her foot. “You won’t twist it like this.”

“Ah.”

He ran her through a few more stretching exercises. She wasn’t really in bad shape - Harry and Ron were simply in top shape. And Luna… well, Ron knew that she had kept up the running she had started when they were dating.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile as they got ready for the second leg of their run. “You’re good at that.”

He nodded at the compliment. “You just lack endurance. That’ll change soon enough.”

She looked at him for a moment, lips pressed together, then started to run.

A little too fast to talk.

Although, as Luna demonstrated, not too fast to sing.

*****

It was a good thing that the group needed to go on runs to talk freely, or Granger would probably never leave her room. Ron certainly hadn’t even caught a glimpse of her since she had gone to her temporary office after lunch. Which made keeping guard in the ‘lounge’ down the hall leading to their rooms more than a little boring. Especially since the one seat with a good view down the hallway, and, therefore, of Granger’s door, was a little too exposed for Ron’s taste.

Dumbledore probably had several ways to deal with them without having them jumped by armed assailants, but Ron couldn’t help wishing he had some cover. At least he had his back to a wall - which he had checked for concealed firing ports or other surprises, of course.

“You look bored!”

Luna had returned from her foray to the kitchen, carrying a big basket full of snacks. And sweets, knowing her.

“Guarding someone is almost never exciting,” he told her.

“Unless things go really wrong, right?”

He nodded - these had been his words, after all. Years ago.

“Sandwich?” She pulled out what looked like a roast beef sandwich. White bread, fortunately - Ron wasn’t a fan of the dark, sour bread the kitchen seemed to offer by default.

“Thanks.”

“Even boring work is hungry work,” she commented, letting herself fall into the seat next to him. “Harry’s asleep?”

“Yes.” Resting, at least.

“And Hermione’s lost in her work.” Luna shook her head. “Did you check that she’s taking enough breaks?”

“I don’t want to disturb her.”

“You’re not a good bodyguard, then.” She was smiling at him as she quoted another line of his and grabbed a sandwich of her own. Tuna. Probably her own recipe - she had managed to get Mum to use that recipe, so hired cooks wouldn’t stand a chance, in Ron’s opinion.

“Circumstances were different back then,” he replied. Luna had been working herself to the bone with her bunker project. 

“Mhhh.” She didn’t look convinced.

“I’ll step in once she starts falling asleep at the table.” He grinned at her, remembering that incident. In hindsight, it was pretty funny.

“Does that mean you’ll take her out on a date?” Luna leaned forward, finishing her sandwich in a few quick bites.

“What?” He blinked, then shook his head. “She’s dating her Ron.” 

“Ah.” 

Or she had been - seven years was a long time. His counterpart might even be dead. Ron took another bite and forced the thought away. No sense dwelling on that sort of nonsense.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 15th, 2005**

The weather was cloudy, but it wasn’t raining. Perfect for a morning run in summer. A cross-country run, of course - the best they had were trails in the forest parts of the route. Ron liked the challenge - running on a track was usually mind-numbing, unless you were competing.

Granger, though, wasn’t enjoying the experience any more than their first run. “Do we need to run through the forest?” she complained at their first break. “I’m not fond of roots and other stumbling hazards.”

“We need to vary our routes,” Harry replied. “Otherwise, Dumbledore’s men will bug them so they can listen to our conversations.”

“Given enough time and resources, they could cover the entire area, eventually,” Ron added, “but it’s not yet an urgent problem.”

Granger sighed. She looked tense, Ron noticed - tenser than yesterday. He stepped closer to her, ducking under a branch. “Bad memories?”

She pressed her lips together, which was answer enough.

*****

_Hogwarts. From her spot at the edge of the forest, she could see the school on the hill across the lake. At night, the lake matched its name perfectly - it was pitch black, with the dim reflection of a few lights from the castle only emphasising its darkness._

_For years, it had been her home. Hers and her friends’. But that had changed. It wasn’t her home. Not any more. Muggleborns were banned from Hogwarts. McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Vector… all the good teachers, everyone who opposed Voldemort’s ideology, were gone. They had quit or disappeared. By all accounts, the school had been turned into a Death Eater training camp, with the half-bloods serving as the training dummies for the Dark Arts._

_She shuddered, remembering her time as a prisoner in Malfoy Manor. Her torture at the hands of… She shook her head, clenching her jaw. It was over. She was free. And Lestrange would never hurt anyone ever again._

_A sudden touch on her back made her gasp. But it was warm - a hand._

_“You don’t have to come.”_

_Ron. She slowly turned to face him. “I have to.”_

_“Snape’s sneaking us in. We just have to search the Room of Requirement. Harry and I can do that.”_

_“We’ll be faster with one more set of eyes. And one more wand.” Even if it wasn’t her original wand. Even if it had been used to torture her. But they needed her. They didn’t have very much time to find the Horcrux._

_“Dobby could get elves to help. Hell, Snape could order some to help us.”_

_She shook her head. “They can’t help with the search.” House-elves couldn’t deal with Horcruxes. Couldn’t even be near them without being corrupted. A second Kreacher would doom them all. “They can act as lookouts, nothing more. You need me.”_

_He stared at her. Then he slowly nodded and hugged her._

_And for a moment, she was at peace._

*****


	11. The Dinner

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 16th, 2005**

_“Oh, Ron…”_

_He felt arms wrap around him from behind. A nude body pressed against his back. A chin on his shoulder, hair tickling his ear. Taking a deep breath, he smelt her scent. “Yes, love,” he whispered, slowly turning around._

_Then they were on the bed, him on top of her. Kissing. Her bushy hair covering the pillow..._

Ron woke up, alone and feeling disoriented. Had he had _that_ sort of dream, featuring Granger? Bloody hell, he must have had a pint too many last night. No, he’d only had the one pint Luna had liberated from the kitchen. Had it been tampered with, perhaps? Luna was smart, but she wasn’t exactly a master thief, so, odds were, the kitchen staff were aware of her ‘pilfering’.

He blinked. His room looked the same. No trouble with his eyes. His sense of balance was fine, too.

He sighed. Well, it had been a while since his last relationship. Or one-night stand. His work made having a relationship a little difficult. And Granger was about the only woman with whom he’d been spending time lately. Apart from Luna, of course. And Luna was his ex.

Totally normal. Probably.

A shave and a shower later, he went to the lounge, which served as their ‘private’ dining room as well. Harry was already buttering a scone at the table.

“Morning,” Ron said, sitting down and grabbing the teapot.

“Morning,” Harry replied. He didn’t look or sound too chipper, Ron noticed.

“Did you have trouble sleeping?” he asked.

His friend shook his head. “No.”

That didn’t sound convincing. But before Ron could think of a way to dig a little without making Harry mad, Luna arrived, Granger in tow. Literally - she was holding her hand and dragging her along, from the looks of it.

“Good morning!” Luna announced. “Oh, scones!”

“We had scones yesterday as well,” Granger said, frowning. “Morning.”

“That’s no reason not to enjoy them!” Luna replied, grabbing two before she had taken a seat.

Granger snorted and looked around. Ron handed her the teapot - he knew what she wanted first thing in the morning.

She didn’t look like she had in his dream, he noted. And not just because she was dressed. Her hair wasn’t free, but up in her usual messy ponytail. And she was grumpy and growling, not moaning. But the way she stood fit. And the proportions seemed to match, as far as he could tell with her wearing jeans and a T-shirt.

“Is something wrong?”

Ron blinked. He had been staring at her! He quickly shook his head. “Oh, no. Just wondering if Luna dragged you out of bed to here.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed, and he saw her baring her teeth when she frowned at him. 

“Oh, no, I would never do that!” Luna said. “Unless it was an emergency, of course. But I dragged her out of her room.”

Fortunately, the news started on the TV in the lounge before Granger had enough tea to tell him off.

*****

_“... and the Metropolitan Police have just confirmed that the main suspect in the murder and missing person case that culminated in a shoot-out leaving half a dozen dead in the middle of London a week ago is Chief Superintendent Corban Yaxley, a subordinate of Deputy Commissioner Rufus Scrimgeour and Commissioner Amelia Bones, the two murdered police officers. Officer Yaxley’s current whereabouts are unknown, and he is considered armed and dangerous. Should you recognise him, do not confront him. Remove yourself to a safe place and inform the police at once.”_

Ron snorted at the picture that illustrated the news report. Someone had found the most unflattering shot of Yaxley for the press release. “Finally!” he exclaimed. “It was about time…”

“Shhh!” Luna interrupted him, pressing a finger against her lips. “It’s not finished yet!”

And, indeed, Granger’s picture - quite a bit more flattering - appeared on the screen. _“There has been no news regarding the fate of missing scientist Dr Hermione Granger, though usually informed sources claim that she, like her parents, was in protective custody and that the police officers guarding her haven’t yet come forward because Commissioner Bones warned them about possible moles in the force before her death. The Metropolitan Police have declined to comment.”_

“Anyone want to bet Dumbledore had a hand in how quickly they changed their tunes about us?” Harry asked. “We’ve gone from ‘suspicious police officers with a troublesome past’ to ‘diligent bodyguards’.”

“That’s a fool’s bet,” Luna replied. “The question should be: Who arranged for you to come under suspicion in the first place?”

Ron shrugged. “Wouldn’t take much. We’ve made our share of enemies. Both in the police and outside.” And they had some - minor - incidents on their files which someone could blow out of proportion.

“The Skeeter I knew,” Granger said, “thrived on this sort of scandal-mongering. And she’d do it just to sell more newspapers. Completely amoral.”

“Our version is a little more careful,” Ron pointed out. “And her name didn’t appear to be connected to the news reports.”

“That doesn’t have to mean anything. She could already be writing a new book, and any scandal centred on you would help with advertising,” Luna said.

Ron could imagine that. On the other hand, Dumbledore probably had a lot more influence - and Ron couldn’t tell what the old man might think would serve his goals best: them being fully cleared or them remaining under suspicion. Both situations had their advantages and drawbacks.

He’d have to gather more intel about Dumbledore - and about Grindelwald.

But first, he had to talk to Harry. His friend was… looking happy now? Ron suppressed a frown. Talking to Harry without anyone listening would be a little tricky. “Better eat a light meal,” he told Granger and the others, “we have our morning run to do.”

Granger groaning he had expected. Luna’s lack of enthusiasm he hadn’t. “But it’s raining!” she protested.

“Fitness doesn’t care about the weather,” he replied.

“Fitness does care about getting a cold!” Luna retorted. “And it’s raining.”

“There’s no bad weather, only unsuitable clothing,” Ron told her.

“That was Percy’s line when he chased us out of your home to play,” Harry said. “And you know he only did that so we wouldn’t bother him when he had Penny over.”

Ron hadn’t known it back then, of course. “That doesn’t make it wrong,” he pointed out. He wasn’t about to wink; Harry already knew why he wanted to go on a run. “Besides, since we don’t know what we’ll face once Dr Granger finishes her portal, it only makes sense to be physically fit. Just in case.”

That convinced her; he could see her pressing her lips together as she inclined her head. She didn’t like it, but she saw sense. But then she suddenly frowned. “You plan on coming with me?”

Of course. “Yes. We’re your bodyguards, aren’t we?” he added, to sound less pushy.

“And I’ll come because I’m your friend!” Luna piped up. “And because I want to meet my counterpart! It’ll be fascinating! Like having a twin sister! And a second Daddy! We’ll be a whole family!”

Ron suppressed a wince - the loss of her mum was still hurting her and her dad. He was almost glad her counterpart had lost her mum as well - if there was a Pandora Lovegood in Granger’s world, Luna might not want to come back.

Like Granger, he thought, pressing his lips together. Her family and friends were waiting for her. Or so she hoped. And her world, in more than one sense.

“Let’s meet outside in five minutes,” he said, finishing his tea. A fast run was just the thing to clear his mind of these depressing thoughts.

*****

“So… what was so important that you had to run them into the ground?” Harry asked in a low voice behind Ron as they stretched.

Ron felt a little guilty - and dirty - as he glanced at Luna and Granger. They had collapsed and lain down on the grass in the small clearing where they had taken their first break, uncaring of the drizzle hitting their faces as they struggled to recover their breath. “Technically, they did that to themselves, trying to keep up,” he defended himself. The pace Ron had set had been challenging, indeed - for him and Harry. 

“Yeah, right. As if we’d let them run at their own pace by themselves,” Harry replied.

Ron cleared his throat. “What are you going to do now that we’re about to be cleared?” he asked, changing the subject.

Harry shrugged. “What we agreed on: staying with Granger. And Luna, now.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Ron said. Though it was nice to have confirmation that there hadn’t been a change of plans. “Will you be meeting Ginny?”

“That wouldn’t be smart,” Harry replied.

Ron snorted. He knew an evasive answer when he heard one.

Harry glared at him. “I want to, but it would endanger our cover.”

“Well, she’s pretty famous,” Ron remarked. Which was a slight understatement. And which was, in hindsight, a little odd. “I wonder why the newspapers didn’t bother her about the affair.”

“She’s probably gone to ground,” Harry said. “But they should have mentioned her, you’re right.”

Ron muttered a curse under his breath. “Do you think Dad got Dumbledore to pull some strings?”

“We’d have to ask him.”

“You’re training in dodging today, I see,” Ron remarked. He ignored Harry glaring at him again.

“I want to see Ginny. Happy now?” his friend spat.

“Well, we should be able to arrange that, once we’re fully cleared and Yaxley’s caught.”

Harry scoffed. “That would be putting her in danger. Whoever’s behind Yaxley will follow her. And even if Dumbledore manages to protect her, it would mean that he’s got more leverage on us.”

That was true, Ron knew. But he also knew that it didn’t really matter. “He already has Dad in his pocket. And do you think he wouldn’t offer to arrange for Ginny to visit us if he thinks it’ll make us feel indebted to him?”

Harry’s curse would have even gotten Mum, who adored the bloke and still saw the poor orphan boy Harry hadn’t really been, to scold him.

“So, might as well meet her anyway - she’ll be furious if she thinks you didn’t want to meet her,” Ron told him.

Harry scoffed again, but Ron caught a faint smile on his face as they went to get Granger and Luna so they could continue their run.

At the second break, near the shore - not planned, but necessitated by the pace Ron had set at the start - Granger approached him. “Did you have to run us into exhaustion just so you could talk privately with Harry?”

He didn’t try to deny it. She wouldn’t buy it. “When did you figure it out?” he asked, instead.

“Just now,” she admitted. She looked a little embarrassed, but after running three-fourths of the route, she was red-faced from the exertion, so he couldn’t tell if she was also blushing.

“Ah.”

“Couldn’t you have just told us that you wanted to have a private talk?”

That made him feel embarrassed. “Now that you mention it, yes. I could have.”

“And why didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “Habit. I grew up with six nosy siblings. Fred and George were especially bad - still are, actually, just in case you ever meet them - so if I’d told them I wanted to have a private talk with Harry, they’d have gone to even greater lengths to listen in. And you and Luna would behave more naturally if you didn’t know the reason for the run.”

“More naturally out here, where we weren’t under surveillance?”

He grinned at her. “Would you believe me if I told you that I was taught to pay attention to the smallest detail when creating a cover story?”

“Yes.”

Right, she knew Moody’s counterpart. “Let’s blame my instructor, then.”

“As long as you don’t repeat this stunt,” she replied.

“Alright.”

The looked at each other for a moment. Just long enough for the sudden silence to become awkward. “You should stretch,” he told her. “You pushed yourself hard today.”

“You pushed me,” she retorted.

“As I recall, it was more like leading. I ran, and you followed. No pushing was involved - on my side.”

She glared at him, then sniffed. “You told us to keep up.”

“And you always do what you’re told?”

“You are in charge of our training,” she retorted.

“And now I’m telling you to stretch.”

He could almost hear her jaw snap together and feel the heat from her glare. But she was stretching.

His smile slipped a little when he remembered what she had told him about ‘accidental magic’. Perhaps he really shouldn’t push her too much. Or lead her, in this case.

“I’ll hold you responsible if I don’t make as much progress in my work today as planned!”

A little late, but she had retorted, he noted. Well, he already knew that she was passionate and stubborn.

*****

Too stubborn for her own good, Ron thought hours later, when he looked into her room and saw that Granger had fallen asleep at her desk, not on the bed right next to her. Shaking his head, he went in. 

Once again, he noted how she looked softer when asleep. Usually, she was always pushing. Herself, or others. Driven. But when she was sleeping… He snorted. She wasn’t drooling on her notes, but she had an ink smudge on her cheek.

He could tuck her in - she wasn’t as slender as Luna was, but he wouldn’t have any trouble lifting her, and the bed was right next to the desk. And she certainly needed the rest.

But it was dinner time, and she needed food as well. So he reached out and gently shook her shoulder. “Wake up!”

She didn’t shoot awake but slowly opened her eyes, blinking and looking confused as she saw him. “Ron?”

He felt a small pang of guilt. And jealousy. “That’s Officer Ron,” he joked.

“Oh. Sorry. I was… Dear Lord, I fell asleep at the desk!” She started to check her notes, ignoring his reassurances that she hadn’t ruined them.

He knew better than to stop her and waited until she had stashed the notes in her beaded bag. “It’s time for dinner.”

“What? Already?”

“A few minutes past dinner time, actually,” he told her with a smirk.

“Why didn’t…” She bit her lower lip, trailing off. “Let’s go, then.”

“After you, Dr Granger.” He held the door open with an exaggerated flourish.

“Officer Weasley.” She walked past with a curt nod and toss of her head that could have fit into a number of fantasy novels he had read.

Which reminded him. “Say, Dr Ganger…” he said as he followed her out of her room, “did you read a lot of fantasy when you were younger?”

She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment. He grinned - he wasn’t talking about magic, even if he was skirting the line a little.

“I haven’t read a fantasy book since I was eleven.”

“Ah.” He forced himself to look embarrassed and add: “Sorry” - Dumbledore would assume they were talking about her kidnapping, not her entering magic school.

“It’s OK. It’s in the past.”

“Ever tried picking up the habit again? A lot has changed in the last ten years.”

“I’m too busy for such diversions,” she replied as they entered the lounge.

“Hi, Hermione! Ron, what took you so long?” Luna asked.

“I had to wake her up.” That earned him another glare from Granger and a giggle from Luna, but it was worth it to shut down any off-colour jokes about needing a chaperone from Harry before his friend could make them.

It wasn’t like that, anyway. A wet dream didn’t mean anything. Certainly not at his age.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 17th, 2005**

Ron groaned after waking up. A second wet dream involving Granger didn’t mean anything, either. Other than that he was probably going stir-crazy. Which a good run would help with. Should. The shower wouldn’t help, though. Too close to the dream. Perhaps a cold shower… Yes.

He nicked himself while shaving, his concentration broken when he had a disturbing thought: Was this perhaps some ‘bleed over’ from her Ron? Some connection across the dimensions? A psychic or magical link? Granger had mentioned something about Harry - her Harry - being tied to the Dark Lord, hadn’t she?

He’d have to ask her for more details. Without letting her know the reason. After breakfast. Well, the light breakfast they took before the run.

*****

His chance came an hour later, at their break. He hadn’t set a punishing pace this time, but he hadn’t gone easy on her, either. So she wasn’t exhausted but still needed a short break. He watched her stretch - correctly, as he had shown her - then glanced around. Harry and Luna were a little too close. “Did anyone spot a bug? The electronic kind,” he clarified.

“Oh! You think they started hiding them in the forest?” Luna perked up. “That would be just like a corporation built on blood! Spying on people and harming the environment at the same time!” She got up from where she had made a ‘grass snow angel’ and started to look around for listening devices.

Harry sent him a look, and Ron nodded at Luna, then at Granger. His friend shook his head at him but turned to follow Luna, as Ron had known he would. Which left Ron to talk to Granger in peace.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t try such stunts any more.” She wasn’t amused.

“I didn’t. You didn’t have any trouble keeping up, did you?”

She scoffed. “You would make a good lawyer, weaselling your way through loopholes.”

He ignored the barb at his name - after seven years in the same school as Malfoy, there weren’t many insults that he hadn’t heard often enough to grow bored of them. “Knowing how to bend the rules is essential to be an effective police officer.”

“I notice that you didn’t say ‘a _good_ police officer’.”

He shrugged with a grin. “We get results.”

“And your colleagues don’t, I guess. Yaxley is still at large, after all.” Her smile wasn’t that friendly.

“He might be already dead, the body dissolved in acid. Or dropped into wet cement.”

“Do you think so?” She changed positions, hands on the trunk and bending her knee while stretching her other leg.

He shook his head. “No. He’s too smart for that. If he were that dumb, he wouldn’t have been in CI5 for this long. If he’s really smart, he’ll be on some tropical island by now, with a fake ID and some dirty money he’s laundered.”

“His counterpart wasn’t very smart.”

“Which is why I don’t think he left Britain,” Ron said. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Something you don’t want anyone to overhear.” She nodded. “Go ahead.”

“You said Harry’s counterpart was tied to Voldemort through his scar.”

She pursed her lips and stopped stretching. “I didn’t exactly say that.”

“Cursed scar, ties to the Dark Lord, fated to face him…” He smiled at her glare.

“Yes.”

“Did that happen to others?” he asked.

“I’ve never heard of another case - but few would have made such an event public.” She shrugged a little, then rubbed her shoulders. “Why do you want to know?”

“I was wondering if someone could have a tie to their counterpart. It would be a huge security risk if one of our enemies had such a source of information.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “That would be a problem. Although most of the people who could do us much harm were dead when I left - or are dead here.”

“That didn’t stop the Dark Lord, did it?”

“He was a special case. And he had a link to Harry through his cursed scar.” She smiled thinly. “In order to duplicate that feat, a dark wizard would have to curse someone from this world. And if they could do that, they would be here - and would have used magic against us already.”

“Ah.” That was comforting. In a morbid way. “Are prophetic dreams real in your world?”

She frowned at that. “No. Divination is nonsense. Real prophecies are very, very rare.”

She sounded quite invested in this, he noticed. “Speaking from experience?”

“No,” she spat. “Or, yes, sort of - I took Divination until I realised it was nonsense. Harry and Ron - my friends - took it as well, and they made up all their dreams and visions, and the teacher never noticed.”

“Ah.” Ron smiled. It was reassuring to hear that he wasn’t being influenced by the soul or spirit or psychic echo of Granger’s lover.

But that meant that he dreamed of her because he was attracted to her or because he was so randy, his subconscious was fixating on the closest woman.

Neither was a very reassuring thought.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 18th, 2005**

Ron had to hand it to Dumbledore: The man had kept his word. At least to Granger - she was currently ordering a dozen men and women around in order to get her new lab set up just as she wanted it. Like a queen ruling her realm.

“No, no - that terminal needs to be all the way back at the wall. Move it!”

“Hey! Stop that - that needs to be in the exact centre of the room. And you! Don’t drill a hole there!”

“What did I say about the computers? You need to run their power lines around the room, not through the centre! The magnetic field they could produce might ruin an experiment otherwise!”

A queen that might be inciting a revolution among her subjects - Granger wasn’t the most diplomatic woman on a good day, and this wasn’t a good day. Too much stress. Ron shook his head as he leaned against the wall next to the entrance to the lab. Perhaps he’d have to act as a bodyguard and protect her from angry workers. Workers, he reminded himself, who Dumbledore trusted to keep a secret - they weren’t just the hired help. And they weren’t used to being micromanaged, either. 

Granger glowered at the last worker she had addressed, then walked over to Ron, sighing. “This will take longer than planned,” she said. “I didn’t expect that I would need to explain everything twice. Dumbledore should have sent people who can follow directions!”

Ron glanced around, but they were far enough away that, with the noise from the drills and other power tools, no one seemed close enough to overhear her. “They are experienced employees,” he told her, “and they’re probably used to just getting told what they have to do, not how to do it.” 

“Hmph. That only works if they know what they need to do. And they don’t! I’m the physicist here!”

He shrugged. “It’s not their fault - you are breaking new ground, aren’t you? I doubt that most physicists would know what you need.” And she was planning to use magic as well.

She frowned, but then bit her lower lip. “I guess I might have been a little too harsh.”

“A little bit.” He didn’t quite grin at her, but judging by her scowl, his tone had given his thoughts away.

She huffed and turned to look at the workers in the centre of the room.

“Not going to apologise?” he asked.

“No.”

“Ah.” He shouldn’t have taken such a condescending tone. But he couldn’t resist.

She glanced at him with her lips pressed together. After a moment, she sighed again. “I might have been a little rude, but it wouldn’t have happened if they had been following my instructions to the letter.”

“And you don’t want to admit that you were also in the wrong,” he replied.

She huffed and went to her temporary desk without another word.

Watching her go and shuffle paper, he felt both satisfied and disappointed. And a little bit guilty.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 19th, 2005**

“Someone important is coming to visit,” Harry said as they approached the building on their morning run.

“Either Dumbledore or Grindelwald - or both,” Ron agreed. They were running at a quite comfortable pace; Granger would be insufferable if he ran her into the ground right when she was about to finish her new lab. More insufferable.

“What?” Granger asked.

“There are more guards than usual, and Filch was up already, inspecting his crew,” Ron explained. “And weren’t the workers in your lab making more of an effort yesterday evening?”

She didn’t answer that. He hadn’t expected her to, either - she hadn’t talked to him much since yesterday. The woman could hold grudges. “Ah,” she said after a moment.

“Oh, the spymaster returns!” Luna cut in, blurting out a sentence per breath while she ran. “Will he arrive in a submarine? Did you have magical submarines, Hermione?”

“No, we didn’t. There were spells which let you breathe underwater. We had a giant squid, though.”

“A giant squid?” Ron blurted out. He hadn’t heard about that. Was she taking the mickey?

“Really?”

“Don’t squids need salt water?” Harry asked.

“Normally, yes,” Granger replied. “This was an exception. He served as a lifeguard when the first-years used the boats.”

“What?” Ron shuddered. To be dragged out of the water by a giant tentacle with suction cups...

“Oh!” Luna exclaimed. “Was he sapient or just well-trained?”

“I don’t know,” Granger replied. “It’s sometimes hard to tell with magical creatures. Or with some wizards and witches,” she added and Ron could hear her smirk.

“Your school was crazy,” he told her.

“Yes, it was,” she agreed.

And she was missing it anyway. Ron felt guilty again. But they reached the building, and there was no more time to talk about magic.

*****

Ron frowned at the mirror as he adjusted his tie. Unlike the suit he was wearing, which fit him well, the tie was proving a little difficult to handle. His first attempt had resulted in the tie being too short, the next had left it too long.

He snorted. Why did he care about the length of his tie? They were in a secret lab, not at a gala. And it wasn’t as if he were wearing a tailor-made suit, either.

But he wanted to look good. With the effort being spent on this dinner - suits had been provided for Harry and himself, dresses for Granger and Luna - he didn’t want to look like he shouldn’t be there. Mum and Dad had raised him better than that. It wasn’t the money, but the manners - something Malfoy had never wanted to accept.

And Ron didn’t want to look bad next to Harry, who cut a dashing figure in a suit, as he knew from experience. And from Ginny’s pictures and stories.

His tie finally adjusted, he brushed a piece of lint from his shoulder, checked if his guns were showing - they weren’t - and left his room.

Harry was already waiting in the lounge, looking sharp, as Ron had expected. And grumpy, too. “What a load of… whatever,” his friend complained. “We look like we’re going to a ball. We’re even waiting for the girls. It’s just a dinner invitation.”

“Did you ever tell Ginny what you think about balls?” Ron asked with a faint smirk.

“Do I look like I’m a fool?” Harry shot back.

Ron chuckled. “Well…”

His friend rolled his eyes. “She loves them.” 

Indeed, Ron’s sister liked being the centre of attention. As the youngest of his siblings, and the only girl, she was used to being treated like a princess. And becoming a - minor - celebrity in her own right hadn’t exactly helped there.

Harry, though, loathed balls. Ron’s friend was frowning at him, he noticed. “We don’t go to many balls,” he said.

“Unless you count fancy parties as well,” Ron pointed out.

“Those are different.”

“Just because there are no formal dances?”

“Yes.”

Ron was about to point out that those dances were what little princess Ginny loved the most at balls, but then Luna and Granger finally appeared in the hallway.

He blinked and almost whistled. Granger cleaned up really well. Luna, too, of course, but he already knew that. But Granger almost seemed like a different person in her little black number instead of her usual clothes. Sensible shoes, he noted - not flats, but the high heels weren’t too high. And nice legs. Even her hair looked nice, framing her face in soft waves instead of being tied back in a bushy ponytail.

“You two look nice!” Luna announced. “Don’t they, Hermione?”

Granger nodded, a little stiffly, Ron thought, as she said: “Yes, one could say that.” She did seem a little too self-conscious for the occasion. “I guess Dumbledore wants us to make a good impression.”

“Well, you’ll certainly succeed at that,” Ron told her. “Both of you,” he quickly added, ignoring Harry’s snort.

“Indeed,” his friend remarked.

“I would prefer to impress people with my mind,” Granger replied.

“You can be pretty and smart,” Luna said. “Don’t let old men - and some young ones - tell you otherwise! That false dichotomy is just another tool of the conspiracy to divide us!”

Ron cleared his throat before Luna could go into details - her unhappy experiences at school hadn’t been solely because of blonde stereotypes, but they had certainly contributed. “So, shall we?” He offered Granger his arm without thinking, and, for a moment, both of them seemed to freeze.

Then she took his arm. “Let’s go, then.”

As they walked down the hallway towards the lift, he kept an eye out - and one on her. “Say…”

“Yes?”

“Did you adjust the dress?” She’d know that he meant ‘with magic’.

“No, I didn’t,” she replied. “I don’t have the necessary tools, even if I wanted to alter a dress.”

Ah. “It fits you perfectly,” he pointed out. And it looked nice on her, which didn’t matter, of course.

“Thank you.” She flashed him a smile - a pleased smile. She didn’t understand.

“As if it had been tailor-made for you,” he went on.

“Oh.” Now she got it.

He nodded. How had Dumbledore’s men managed to get her sizes without her - or him - noticing?

“I guess my tailor’s computer security is poor,” she said.

“You had dresses tailored for you?” Ron asked before he could help himself.

She frowned at him. “Once. At my... family’s request. For a celebration.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t see the need to spend more money on tailor-made clothes,” she continued.

“I didn’t think you would.”

And there was the glare he was so familiar with - until she suddenly laughed.

He blinked. Oh. “What did my counterpart do?” he asked.

“You don’t want to know,” she said, with a slightly sad-looking smile.

But Ron did want to know. Very much, actually. Even though he didn’t know why.

*****

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Dumbledore greeted them as they entered what Ron had overheard the staff call ‘the Presidential Suite’. “May I introduce you to my dear friend Gellert Grindelwald?” 

“Good evening.” The other man in the room, which was quite a bit bigger than their lounge, nodded at them as he stepped closer.

Ron looked him over. Dumbledore had a slight paunch, but Grindelwald made him look almost fat; the former German spy was rail-thin. And looked tough as leather - a far cry from his jovial partner.

“Mr Potter. Mr Weasley.” The man met Ron’s eyes but seemed to dismiss him at once, focusing on Granger. “Dr Granger. I’ve been looking forward to making your acquaintance.” He had a slight German accent. Probably put-on, Ron thought - a spy turned CEO would have learnt perfect English, especially if living with Dumbledore.

“Good evening, Mr Grindelwald.” Granger looked and sounded composed and polite, Ron noticed.

“Gellert’s been badgering me to arrange this visit,” Dumbledore cut in with his usual smile.

“It’s a fascinating tale. And a priceless opportunity,” Grindelwald said, nodding. His lips twisted slightly, subtly signalling some doubt.

For all her occasional lack of social graces, Granger, of course, had to pick up on that. She was probably used to people at Imperial doubting her. Ron saw her raise her chin and frown at the German. “I will deliver what I promised.”

“Don’t you trust your partner’s judgement, Mr Grindelwald?” Luna spoke up. She was frowning as well, and much more noticeably, with an added pout.

“Trust but verify, Miss Lovegood,” Grindelwald replied with a slight sneer.

“Words to live by,” Dumbledore cut in. “Shall we sit down? I’ve found that most meetings run more smoothly if people are more comfortable. And I have it on good authority that our meal deserves to be eaten at a proper table.” He smiled, seemingly unfazed by the latent hostility, and gestured towards the table in the back.

As soon as they had taken their seats, a waitress started serving the hors d’oeuvres - bite-sized meat pies. Quite delicious, as Ron discovered.

“One of the few pieces of English cuisine of which Gellert ever grew fond,” Dumbledore commented.

His friend snorted. Once. Ron wasn’t sure whether that was affected as much as the man’s accent - Ron knew the stereotypes about Germans - or if it was genuine.

“My compliments to the chef,” Granger said. Luna signalled her agreement with an appreciative noise.

Ron nodded. “It’s very tasty.”

Dumbledore beamed at them, though Grindelwald soon did his best to ruin the mood again: “While Albus, as usual, deduced a great deal, I do think it all sounds a little fantastic. Another dimension? A parallel world? Counterparts so close to us, even the DNA matched, so you could pass for a kidnapping victim?”

“If you remove the impossible, what remains is the truth,” Dumbledore said.

Grindelwald scoffed in reply. “Or the impossible. I haven’t seen any proof so far.”

“If I could prove it easily, I wouldn’t be here,” Granger retorted.

“Really?” Grindelwald scoffed. “What about the device you used to save Mr Weasley?”

“What?” Granger froze for a moment, and Ron barely kept himself from wincing.

“You claim you have no proof, yet you cling to the same ugly, ratty bag you were found with after your arrival - you even take it with you on your runs,” the German said before picking up and eating another pie.

“You searched my room!” Granger shot back.

“The staff uses your absences to clean it and do the laundry,” Dumbledore cut in. “Like in a hotel.”

And then reported to him. Which had been obvious - at least to Ron. That was part of the reason they only talked about magic on their runs. And once more, Granger was spilling information.

“I analysed the reports and records from the shoot-out in the park. There’s no known method to achieve the ‘cloud of darkness’ that covered Mr Weasley,” Grindelwald said.

“There you have your proof, then,” Granger retorted.

“A deduction. Not quite proof.” The old man’s smile was a far cry from Dumbledore’s. Hard and triumphant.

“What I used was a limited resource,” Granger told him.

“And I’m very grateful she used it, despite it being irreplaceable,” Ron cut in. “I was in a sticky situation.”

“Sticky indeed,” Dumbledore said. “There was a lot of blood on the ground - I would have assumed that you were gravely wounded, if not for seeing you here, hale and healthy.”

Ron forced himself to keep smiling and nodded. “Yes.” He wouldn’t show any reaction. Even though the two old men were already aware that he had been hurt.

“Another irreplaceable resource, I assume,” Grindelwald said with obviously fake sincerity.

For a change, Granger didn’t reply.

But it wasn’t because she had managed to bite her tongue, Ron realised with a glance.

*****

_“Episkey! Episkey! Episkey!”_

_It wasn’t working. The wounds weren’t closing. It was a dark curse._

_“Vulnera Sanentur!”_

_She all but yelled the incantation, then sighed with relief as she saw the wounds close. But he had lost a lot of blood. She reached into her bag and pulled out a Blood-Replenishing Potion._

_“What are you doing?”_

_She froze at the acerbic tone. Snape._

_“Saving Neville,” Harry spat._

_“You’re wasting time.” The professor - she would never call him ‘Headmaster’ - sneered. “Time your friends are buying for you with their lives. What use is it to waste a valuable potion on him if he’ll pointlessly die anyway so long as you don’t accomplish your task?”_

_“You bloody git! He’s our friend!” Ron roared._

_“He’s not going to bleed out any more.” Snape sneered and flicked his wand. A moment later, Neville opened his eyes and groaned. “There. Healthy, if not hale. Now go and destroy the last Horcrux before the last of your allies falls to the Dark Lord!”_

_“What?” Neville asked, blinking. Then he focused on Harry. “Go! We’ll hold them.”_

_She bit her lower lip. But Harry nodded - with clenched teeth. “He’s right. Let’s go!”_

_And she stashed the potion in her bag again as she followed her friends to the Room of Requirement._

*****


	12. The Cover Story

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 19th, 2005**

Granger recovered quickly, but not quickly enough for the two old men to miss what had happened. Ron saw Dumbledore smile in apparent sympathy - which was probably faked - and Grindelwald’s lips twitch a little as Granger took a deep breath.

“Sorry,” she said. “Memories.”

“I see how you managed to convince people that you were a kidnapping victim.”

Granger glared at him. “I _was_ a kidnapping victim.”

Ron kept himself from reaching over to touch her hand or shoulder. She wouldn’t appreciate it.

“Not for long, though, according to your story,” Grindelwald said in a very clinical tone. Had he sounded like that when he had interrogated people for the Abwehr?

“Long enough to be tortured extensively,” she spat.

Luna gasped, and Ron winced. He hadn’t known that, though he had suspected. Some of the nightmares had been a little too specific.

“Gellert.” Dumbledore inclined his head, and Grindelwald leaned back. Was the old man _pouting_? Was that a hint at who called the shots in that relationship?

Ron focused on Granger. She was trembling and tenser than a bowstring. But she kept staring at Grindelwald, her jaw clenched and her teeth bared. Too stubborn for her own good.

And too gullible to keep such information secret. Ron cleared his throat. “Do you really want to waste an irreplaceable, possibly life-saving resource on satisfying your curiosity?”

Grindelwald’s expression told Ron that he did - but it was Dumbledore who replied. “Perish the thought! Although if you have access to any renewable resources, we’d be delighted if you were able to provide a demonstration. Or if you could manufacture a small device.”

Granger pressed her lips together. They really should have thought of a good cover story for magic. Well, there was always Clarke - but technology was replicable. Generally. Perhaps... “The resources needed for her advanced technology aren’t available in our world.”

Granger shot him a look he couldn’t read, then nodded. “Yes. I’m focusing on opening a portal to my world since I know how to do that with the resources available. But to recreate most of my world’s advanced technology, I would have to know how, first of all, and then have access to resources unique to my home world.” She hadn’t stumbled over ‘advanced technology’. “And, seeing as I barely managed to save Ron’s life, I’d be loathe to waste what devices I have left on demonstrations. That I packed for a fight doesn’t help, of course - most of what I have left is meant for emergency use in combat.” 

And there she went and said too much, again. Ron suppressed a sigh.

“And your healing technology?” Grindelwald asked.

“Limited to wounds,” she replied.

“Ah.” He slowly nodded. 

Was the man sick? Ron wondered.

“All we - all of us - need is a portal to your home world, I think,” Dumbledore said.

“And hope that your doctors accept what we can offer,” Grindelwald added.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Granger said. “If my friends are still fighting, they should be able to grant you access to advanced healing in exchange for material support. And if they won, I’ll get you access myself.”

“And if they lost?” Grindelwald asked.

She clenched her teeth again. “Then we’ll see if the French have a taste for what you can offer. But someone will want this world’s luxuries.”

“Luxury goods are a quite common start for trade relations, if I remember my history lessons correctly,” Dumbledore said.

Was the old man planning to open a trade route through the portal? How would that play with the ‘Statute of Secrecy’ Granger had mentioned? Probably not too well, Ron thought. Something they couldn’t let the two men know or there would be problems.

“I would be interested in hearing more about your home world, Dr Granger,” Grindelwald said after the main course - excellent ‘schnitzel’ with pommes frites - was served. “Nothing that would trigger traumatic memories. Just a basic overview - how advanced is your world? I would prefer not to emulate the Indians selling their land for glass beads.”

“It’s ‘Native Americans’,” Granger told him. “And I can assure you that I wouldn’t let you be tricked like that.”

“That’s laudable of you, and your help is appreciated,” Grindelwald replied - though he didn’t sound particularly grateful, at least in Ron’s opinion. “But surely you understand that we’d prefer to make our own informed decisions? As you would in our place, I think.”

“Yes, I understand.” Granger sounded reluctant. But Ron knew this had been well-played by the old man. “Now, in my home world, it’s mainly the elite who have access to such advantages. Unless born into the right family, you have to be extraordinarily talented to join the club, so to speak.”

“Like yourself, Dr Granger?” Dumbledore said.

“Yes. My parents were, like the Grangers in this world, dentists.”

“I presume that you faced a lot of resentment and jealousy,” the old man went on.

“Yes,” Granger confirmed in a flat voice.

“Up to a war against you and your peers?”

“Yes. And against everyone who’d stand with us.”

“Such as Albus’s counterpart,” Grindelwald commented, finishing his schnitzel.

“He was our leader,” Granger confirmed what Grindelwald would already know.

“And defeated my counterpart in a duel when he was poised to conquer Europe in the 1940s.” The old man snorted. “A tall tale, if ever I heard one.”

“That’s the official story,” Ron cut in before Granger could reveal more clues about magic. “Shooting his lover from behind probably wouldn’t have made for a good story.”

Dumbledore chuckled at that, then sent a wry glance at Grindelwald. “While I like the thought of my counterpart saving his country single-handedly, killing his beloved seems a little too pragmatic.”

“I like the thought that my counterpart only lost because of love,” Grindelwald replied.

The smile they shared was creepy, in Ron’s opinion, though it was also clear that there was more behind the exchange.

“Your counterpart didn’t kill Grindelwald. My Grindelwald. He imprisoned him in a prison Grindelwald had built,” Granger said.

“Ah.” Dumbledore nodded. “That changes things, I believe.”

Grindelwald snorted. “My counterpart was kept in his own private prison? That’s certainly a better fate than what awaited the leaders of the Reich.”

“You make it sound as if there was no trial, Dr Granger,” Dumbledore commented.

“I don’t know. But I think that if there had been a trial, it would have been both public and would have revealed their personal relationship,” Granger replied.

“So much for due process,” the old German commented.

“Quite,” Dumbledore agreed. Once more, it sounded like hinting at a shared event. “Though I presume that such revelations would have put a crimp in my counterpart’s political ambitions.”

Ah. That might explain why Dumbledore hadn’t been knighted after his service as ‘C’ twenty years ago. Ron nodded. 

“It was revealed after his death to attack him posthumously,” Granger said.

“Ah.” Dumbledore’s smile turned wry again, and he glanced at Grindelwald with another unreadable expression.

“Err.” Granger bit her lower lip. “The attack wasn’t aimed at the homosexual nature of the relationship, should that be your assumption. It was the fact that the famous Albus Dumbledore had been the lover of one of the most infamous people in the world that was meant to wreck his reputation and demoralise our side.”

“Ah.” Dumbledore nodded again. “And that only happened after my counterpart’s demise, not before. So it didn’t impact his political career.”

“No, it didn’t. For decades, your counterpart was an internationally-famous politician and the headmaster of our most important boarding school. At the same time,” Granger said.

Dumbledore looked surprised for a moment, and Grindelwald cackled. “I was a headmaster?”

“And a teacher before that.”

The old man slowly inclined his head. “Shaping the future leaders of the country, I presume. And recruiting operatives - like yourself.”

“Yes,” Granger confirmed.

“I have to admit that I never contemplated that course of action. Although I probably wouldn’t have been a very good teacher.” But probably a good recruiter, Ron thought.

“I believe I mentioned before that we cannot trust my knowledge about someone’s counterpart in order to draw conclusions about them,” Granger pointed out with a smug smile.

“Ah, but the temptation to do so remains as strong as ever!” Dumbledore replied. “The ultimate game of ‘what if?’, so to speak.”

“Well, I, for one, am glad I wasn’t sentenced to life in Spandau,” Grindelwald said. “Hess would have been a very boring cellmate, I think.”

“Quite,” Dumbledore agreed.

“Were you ever tried?” Luna asked.

“No. Not by the Reich nor by the Allies after the capitulation.” Grindelwald smiled with a cold expression. “I was a mere junior officer doing my duty in the Abwehr during the war.”

Luna frowned, but before she could push the old spy, Dumbledore stepped in. “And when he was forced to choose between his duty and his love, he couldn’t decide.”

“I might have managed to make a decision if someone hadn’t pushed me out of a window.”

“On the first floor.”

“Yes.”

Both chuckled. Ron glanced at Harry, who hadn’t said anything in quite a while. His friend was staring at the two old men with a very guarded expression.

As expected, Harry hadn’t been fooled by the ‘harmless old men’ act the two were putting on for them.

*****

“And did you never use your influence or your access to privileged information to help your business interests?” Luna asked with a frown.

“My dear, that would have been unethical,” Dumbledore replied, finishing his dessert - a rather conventional mix of various flavours of ice cream; apparently, Grindelwald wasn’t fond of ‘fancy desserts’.

“I doubt that you ran the Secret Service with ethics in mind,” she retorted.

“Oh, but that was in the interest of our country; ethics are a little more flexible in that case.” Dumbledore nodded with a very patronising expression. He found this as amusing as Grindelwald, Ron realised, but was a little less blatant about it.

“And yet you haven’t actually denied it,” Harry pointed out.

“Habit, Mr Potter,” Dumbledore told him. “I have had to neither confirm nor deny any speculation in the press for a long time.”

“I’m not the press,” Luna said. “I’m just a concerned citizen.”

“A very concerned citizen, I’d say,” Grindelwald commented.

“Are my questions making you uncomfortable?” She frowned at him.

“I’ve dealt with such questions for decades - as a weapons manufacturer in Germany, the press is a regular concern.”

“It’s only fair to answer questions of yours after asking so many ourselves,” Dumbledore said - as if they had actually answered any questions, instead of deflecting them.

Then again, they would have realised that Granger was giving evasive answers as well. Which, Ron realised, was probably the reason they were treating Luna like this. A subtle hint.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 20th, 2005**

“We need to think of a cover story for magic,” Harry said during the first break of their morning run. “Otherwise, they’ll figure it out. Quickly.”

Granger was still catching her breath, as was Luna - they had stepped up the pace, to explain the longer breaks they would be taking. Not that Ron expected to fool Dumbledore, but getting sloppy was a bad habit to develop. But Granger managed to reply, if a little choppily: “Easier… said… than… done.” 

Ron watched her rest while he stretched. Truth to be told, he could use a break as well, if only to be fully ready should someone attack.

“Difficult or not, we have to do it,” Harry retorted. “If they realise that it’s magic, and not technology that could be copied and controlled, they won’t be pleased.”

“They’ll have to be told when I open the portal,” Granger said. “I won’t be able to conceal the ritual’s nature.”

Granger had made it clear that she didn’t like the ‘Dark Arts’, as black magic was called in her world, but that still sounded a little worrying.

“You need to keep magic secret until you can return to your world!” Luna cut in. “If they find out that you need to be born with magic, they’ll try to start a breeding program!”

And _that_ was a _very disturbing_ thought. Though Ron had no doubt that Grindelwald would be all for it, and Dumbledore would at least entertain the idea - and probably try to subtly arrange a relationship with one of his agents. Or try to clone her.

Granger seemed to turn slightly green. “That’s…”

“Not too far-fetched,” Ron cut her off. “Do you think a country wouldn’t go to such lengths to secure wizards and witches for themselves?”

“To such lengths, and more!” Luna told her, nodding repeatedly.

Granger sighed, then also nodded. “I guess they would.”

“Which is why we need a cover story that will hold up,” Harry said, rolling his shoulders. “At least so you can make chit-chat without revealing crucial secrets.”

Granger glared at him, but Harry ignored it. “As I already said,” she replied through clenched teeth, “it’s not easy to cover up magic. It’s not the same as advanced technology, no matter what certain fantasy authors claim. You can’t just replace a spell with some machine when telling a story.”

Ron nodded despite the dig at Clarke. “Using spells instead of machines causes distinct differences in the entire society. Like a war being decided by a duel between the two most powerful wizards.”

Granger blinked, then nodded. “Exactly! Most of what I could tell them about Wizarding Britain wouldn’t make any sense if magic were a form of technology. And they would realise that very quickly if they haven’t already,” she added with a gloomy expression.

“No thanks to you telling them too much. You don’t have to answer every question,” Harry told her.

Granger scowled at him. “If I don’t say anything, it’s even more obvious!”

“Old men are stuck in their ways,” Luna said. “They will have trouble accepting the existence of magic, especially without a demonstration.”

Ron glanced at Harry. They certainly had taken some time to accept magic despite a demonstration. His friend shook his head. “Don’t count on that. They’re former spies, and they’ve already accepted dimensional travel.”

Ron grinned. “We’ll make a sci-fi fan out of you yet, Harry.” 

Harry rolled his eyes as he continued. “But we need to have a cover story.” He looked at Ron. “One that will at least seem plausible.”

Ron realised that all three were looking at him.

“You’re the one most experienced with fantasy and sci-fi books, Ron,” Luna told him.

“I’m not a wizard, though. You’re a witch,” he addressed Granger, “You know how actual magic works.”

“Which won’t help overly much with hiding it. Without memory-wiping spells, at least,” she retorted. “You probably know more about creating a convincing society that uses advanced technology than I do.”

“Probably, yes,” he admitted. Certainly, actually - but it was probably already hard enough for her to admit relative ignorance on any subject.

“So it’s up to you!” Luna declared. “Our fate, the fate of Hermione’s world, depends on you!”

“No pressure,” Harry commented with a smirk.

Ron glared at him, but his friend’s smirk only grew more pronounced. Git.

*****

By the time they were starting their evening run - or late afternoon run: there was another dinner with the two old men scheduled - Ron hadn’t yet found a good cover story. Any kind of technological explanation he could think of that would explain magic without revealing that it was magic wouldn’t explain the sort of society Granger had already laid out. Or why there hadn’t been a revolution or a large-scale civil war. 

“An aristocracy?” Granger sounded incredulous.

“Well, not officially. More like a hyper-capitalist society with a very steep class divide between the rich and the poor, where the rich have access to advanced technology and the poor live in squalid slums. And where the best and brightest of the poor get a chance to join the rich, which serves as a pressure valve to keep them from starting a revolution,” Ron explained. “And any conflict between the rich is kept ‘in the family’, so to speak.”

“So… like our society? Just without the magic technology?” Luna asked.

“More like every cyberpunk novel, ever,” Harry commented.

“Those are basically our world, just with the blinders removed. Cyberpunk is classic social criticism disguised as a fantasy story to make it more palatable to both the masses and the shadow conspiracy,” Luna retorted.

Granger looked a little lost. Ron smiled at her. “I can tell you which are the best novels to read from the genre. So you know what you should be talking about.”

The way she seemed torn between surprise and annoyance at the fact that she might have to read ‘such diversions’, as she had called them, made her look very cute.

*****

“...so, your civil war was not an open war, but fought in the shadows?” Dumbledore rubbed his beard. “A struggle for dominance amongst the country’s leadership, with all means short of the military being used?” He probably was very familiar with that sort of conflict.

“More or less,” Granger replied. “It was mostly covert actions on both sides. Death squads and strike teams. You had to hide since if you were discovered, you were usually dead.”

“That should have kept the overall death toll low, though.” The old man nodded. “If all conflicts I had to meddle with had been so contained… I almost envy my counterpart. A lot of conflicts were… messy.”

Granger frowned, but, fortunately, didn’t reveal too much as she replied: “There was still some collateral damage, and some of the hired guns had some disgusting habits more suited to the era of the Landsknechte.” 

Her dessert was slowly melting, Ron noticed - between answering the two old men’s questions, she had barely eaten half of her ice cream. But at least she hadn’t let slip more crucial information, and it seemed as if their cover story was holding up so far.

“Ah.” Grindelwald nodded. “That’s quite typical for mercenaries. No discipline. Remember the Congo?” he asked Dumbledore, who chuckled at the question.

“Were you involved in the coup?” Luna asked.

“I couldn’t possibly comment,” Dumbledore replied.

“Ah.” It was clear that Luna saw that as confirmation. “And is that your opinion of your own mercenaries?”

“We do not employ mercenaries,” Dumbledore told her. “Though you might have a mistaken impression that we do due to the fact that many former soldiers tend to work as security guards or bodyguards.”

“They have a rather proactive view of ‘guarding’, if I recall correctly,” Luna retorted.

“If you’re facing terrorists and pirates, you won’t be able to do your job with a club and a taser,” Grindelwald said. “And we prefer employees who take the initiative if needed.”

Luna wrinkled her nose. “That’s scant consolation to the ‘collateral damage’ they cause.”

“Sometimes, such tragic incidents happen despite the best precautions,” Dumbledore replied. “I don’t doubt that Dr Granger has had similar experiences.”

The old man was getting better at changing the subject back to Granger’s world, but Ron knew Luna was too stubborn to stop and would continue her ‘interrogation’ at the next opportunity - as she had done for the entire meal.

“I wasn’t part of the teams that went out and attacked our enemies,” Granger said.

“But you did fight. Several times.”

“Yes. But I didn’t attack civilians,” she retorted.

“Not intentionally, at least.”

Granger glared at him with her lips pressed together but didn’t deny the implied accusation.

“Besides,” Grindelwald spoke up again, “unless you plan to abandon Dr Granger and Miss Lovegood, you’ll be quitting the police and entering the private security sector as well, won’t you?”

“I think after surviving those shootings, we could easily get a few months of leave to recover from our ordeal,” Harry said.

“Faking combat shock?” Grindelwald didn’t bother to hide his sneer. “You expect your superiors to fall for such a transparent ploy?”

Bones and Scrimgeour would have seen through it, but both of them were dead. Who knew who’d be put in charge of CI5 now? None of the remaining superintendents would have made a good impression.

“And what would Officer Moody think about that?” Dumbledore asked. “Not to mention the effect it would have on your future prospects. And people suffering from PTSD are rarely allowed to carry weapons.”

Ron clenched his teeth. The old man was correct. Using such a loophole wouldn’t work out well for them. He forced himself to shrug. “We’re still hiding with our charge, so that’s not an immediate concern.”

“I don’t expect that situation to last much longer,” Dumbledore said. “As the investigation uncovers more of Mr Yaxley’s past, it will soon reach a point where you’ll have to be officially cleared - although you will have to testify to settle the matter, I believe. As will you, Dr Granger.”

Ron wasn’t worried about that himself - he and Harry had had to testify several times in the past. But Granger… if she was as uncooperative as she had been with them, it might result in a problem.

“I think a good, discreet solicitor would greatly facilitate the process,” Dumbledore suggested - of course, he would be aware of Granger’s past interrogations. He had probably read her entire file already. “I’ll cover their fee, of course.”

“A lawyer?” Granger seemed surprised. “Could they be trusted?”

“Oh, you won’t have to tell them the truth.” Dumbledore smiled widely. “And they usually know not to ask too many questions.”

“Who do you have in mind?”

“The unfortunately named, but quite skilled, Cornelius Fudge.”

“What? Him?” Granger gasped, then wildly shook her head. 

*****

**Near Ipswich, Suffolk, Britain, July 22nd, 2005**

“Well, Fudge can’t be an incompetent lawyer if he can afford this sort of vacation home,” Ron commented, studying the small manor as their driver, one of Dumbledore’s employees, drove the limousine towards the parking area. He couldn’t see any signs of an ambush or trap. Neither did Harry, or Ron’s friend would have said something.

“He could have inherited the house,” Granger replied.

“He didn’t. We checked,” Harry said. Fudge wasn’t one of the best solicitors, but certainly one of the most discreet.

“Or he could be corrupt.” Granger sniffed. “Selling out his clients for the right price.”

“I don’t think Dumbledore would have referred you to Fudge if he were that corrupt,” Luna said, straightening the summer dress she wore. “He’s an evil corporate tycoon, but he’s not naive or stupid.”

“Well, it’s just as you said: You can’t judge people based on the actions of their counterparts,” Ron remarked.

The glare Granger sent him was very impressive. “I agreed to meet Fudge,” she said, “didn’t I?”

“You did,” Ron agreed. “After a heated argument, though.”

“I merely voiced my doubts,” she replied.

Ron suppressed a chuckle at that blatant understatement. Harry wasn’t as successful - or didn’t bother.

“You voiced them very vigorously and passionately,” Luna said, nodding. 

Granger huffed in response, shook her head, then walked towards the manor’s door a little faster than before, forcing them to catch up. Not that it took Ron much of an effort. Nor did he mind - he was starting to feel a little exposed out in the open, especially as the sun was setting.

The door opened a few seconds after Granger had rung the bell, revealing a slightly corpulent middle-aged man with a receding hairline. “Good evening, Dr Granger! Officer Potter. Officer Weasley. Miss...” he blinked.

“Lovegood. Luna Lovegood,” Luna told him.

“Ah. Good evening, Miss Lovegood. I’m Cornelius Fudge. Pleased to meet you all! Please come in!”

The entrance hall was decorated with a few too many paintings and a few too many antiques. Trying too hard, Dad would call it. Sirius would make a comment about the ‘nouveau riche’. Still, what it fell short of in style it certainly made up for in impressing upon visitors that Fudge had money. Of course, the kind of people he probably wanted to impress wouldn’t be impressed at all by such a display. But they weren’t here to judge the man’s interior decorator.

“Please join me in the salon,” Fudge said, gesturing towards the door to the side, next to a landscape painting.

The ‘salon’ sported too many stuffed animal heads. They sat down on a couch below an elephant and a rhinoceros staring at each other.

“Please serve yourself,” Fudge told them, pointing at the low table where several bottles and two bowls with crackers stood. “Unfortunately, due to the discretion this meeting requires, I had to send the staff away for the evening.”

Which meant they would be aware there was something important and secret occurring. Not the safest way to handle this, Ron thought. But Dumbledore was vouching for the man.

“Thank you,” Granger said - she wasn’t even looking at the refreshments, Ron noticed. Luna, though, was already happily munching on one of everything. Sometimes, she was far too trusting.

“Do you know why we’re meeting with you?” Granger asked.

“Well, even if I hadn’t been told by my very good friend Albus, I would have deduced the reason for your visit by now - you’re famous, after all. Most of you.” Fudge flashed pearly-white teeth.

“Of course. As you’ve deduced, I need a solicitor for my upcoming interview with the police.” Granger managed to say without losing her polite smile.

“And the gentlemen and Miss Lovegood?” Fudge asked.

“We’ll be fine,” Harry told him, “and Luna’s not involved.”

“Well, not in the criminal case,” Luna said. “I’d like to think I’m involved in the lives of my friends.”

“Quite. If you change your mind, my partner is an excellent solicitor and would be happy to assist you in your interviews.” Fudge widely smiled at them. “Just in case - one can never go wrong with competent help, after all, and any money spent on keeping oneself free of legal entanglement is worth spending, wouldn’t you agree?”

Ron kept a polite smile on his face even though he’d never let Fudge or one of the man’s partners represent him in an interrogation. A former Chief Superintendent who had switched sides and become a solicitor after a scandal? His colleagues would assume that he was guilty as sin with that sort of solicitor. 

Which, he realised, might also be the case for Granger. Might - she wasn’t under investigation, after all. But to show up all lawyered up with Fudge? That would leave an unfavourable impression. And Dumbledore would have known that.

“To business then,” Fudge said, putting his glass down. “I’m afraid that I need some privacy for my talk with Dr Granger. Procedure, you understand - it would be unethical to discuss anything pertaining to the case with two persons of interest in the same case present. So, feel free to avail yourself of the rest of the refreshments while my client and I confer in my office.”

Ron nodded. “Of course. Although one of us will have to wait in front of your office. Procedure, you know.”

“Albus mentioned something like that,” Fudge replied, apparently unfazed by the dig at his former career. “Please follow me, then.”

At least the man seemed to be a competent lawyer.

*****

**CI5 Headquarters, Westminster, London, July 25th, 2005**

Dawlish was leaning against the wall, glaring at them as they approached the waiting area for their interviews. A number of their colleagues had done the same since they had stepped into the building, but he was one of the few doing it openly, Ron noticed.

“So you finally stopped hiding.” Dawlish didn’t bother to conceal his sneer, either.

“Yes,” Harry replied. “We would have resurfaced sooner, but we had to wait until you lot figured out that you had a traitor in your midst - wait, it wasn’t you who figured that out. You had to get help.”

“No thanks to you,” Dawlish retorted. 

“You had all the clues,” Ron told him. “Bones and Scrimgeour couldn’t have been killed without inside information. And who benefited the most from their deaths?”

“Really? You want to tell me that Yaxley had them murdered to get promoted? He wasn’t that dumb.” Dawlish shook his head. “And you have a lot of nerve to talk like that - you were present at both murders, and vanished afterwards.”

“Because we realised that there was a traitor,” Harry said.

“And we were almost killed,” Ron added.

Dawlish scoffed. “So you say.” He glanced at Granger, who was talking with Fudge behind them. “You going to hide behind him as well?”

Dawlish knew as well as they did that Fudge couldn’t represent all of them. This was just another dig. Ron shook his head anyway. “We’ve got nothing to hide,” he lied.

The other officer shook his head and walked away without another word.

Perhaps quitting CI5 was a good idea for other reasons as well.

“Why are we being interviewed here?” Granger asked after catching up to them. “I thought the entire department was under suspicion.”

“Not officially,” Ron told her. Officially, the various other organisations were only providing assistance to CI5.

“But anyone in CI5 will be seen with suspicion for some time,” Harry added.

“Or derision for not spotting the traitor.”

“Well-deserved derision!”

Ron whirled around with a sinking feeling in his gut. Moody was standing in the door to one of the interrogation rooms, glaring at them. And he had gotten the drop on them.

“We fucked up,” their old instructor said. “Rufus, Amelia, you two, myself.”

“How could you have detected Yaxley’s treachery?” Granger asked.

Moody narrowed his good eye at her. “Dr Granger.”

She didn’t flinch - she was even smiling, a little at least. “Yes. And you are…?”

“Alastor Moody. But you knew that already.” The older man turned to glare at Ron. “Been telling stories, have we?”

“Not many,” Ron defended himself. Granger knew Moody because she had known his counterpart. Who had, apparently, lost more in the line of duty than an eye.

“Just enough to recognise you,” Granger added.

Ron glared at her, and she flinched. Good. This wasn’t her Moody.

“Did they tell you how I lost my eye?” Moody’s hand rose to touch his eyepatch.

“No.”

Ron tensed. The other man wouldn’t… He would. With a practised motion, Moody pulled his patch off, revealing the scars and empty socket beneath.

But Granger didn’t shriek or gasp. She probably had seen worse in her world. Had definitely seen worse, Ron corrected himself. 

Moody sniffed. “They warned you.”

Granger tilted her head in response. “Constant vigilance?”

That earned her a chuckle. “You’re a tough one, aren’t you? Or a cold one.” Moody nodded at the room behind him. “Get in. We’ve got a lot of questions.”

“As long as you refrain from any attempt to scare or surprise my client,” Fudge spoke up. “Dr Granger didn’t take the risk of revealing herself while the main suspect in the attacks on her is still at large to be abused by the police.”

“Fudge.” Moody bared his teeth.

“Moody.” If the solicitor was nervous, then he hid it well, Ron thought.

After a moment, Moody snorted again and repeated his invitation: “Let’s get started, then.”

*****

“...did you recognise any of the attackers in the park?” 

“No.” Ron refrained from adding ‘as I told you before’ - he knew that wouldn’t help. Quite the contrary, actually - he had been in the place of the detective from the Met himself.

“Were you wounded during the fight in the park?”

“I was knocked down and briefly knocked out,” he answered. Lying and claiming he hadn’t been hit would be foolish - they had to have footage showing him and Granger retreating.

“Knocked down? Were you shot?”

“I wore a bullet-proof vest, which saved my life.” That was a blatant lie. His first in the interview. “I ditched it afterwards - the trauma plates were broken. Some of the shards cut my skin.”

“That must have been a large-calibre hit,” the detective commented. 

“It certainly felt like one,” Ron agreed.

“Was the bullet stuck in the vest?”

Ah. “I don’t think so - we would have noticed. But it might have fallen out during our retreat - we weren’t exactly paying attention to anything other than the attackers.” He was talking too much. But it was better than to answer with single words. Ron knew how to make a testimony sound plausible. But the detective did as well.

“How did you escape from the park?”

“We took our car.”

“Did you expect an attack in the park?”

“Yes. We were trained to always expect the worst.”

“Did you attempt to warn Commissioner Bones?”

He winced. “We assumed she was aware of the threat herself.”

“Ah.”

Ron pressed his lips together. Getting angry at the man was pointless. The detective hadn’t been there. And didn’t understand the situation.

“When did you become aware that you were under attack?”

Ron didn’t sigh, even though he felt like it. He should be the one asking the questions, not the one answering. “When Harry warned me about a car approaching us.”

“What did you do in response to the warning?”

“Not much. Before I could do anything, the Commissioner got shot and…”

*****

Half an hour later, the interview was finally over, and Ron could leave and return to the waiting room. Harry wasn’t done yet - Ron could see the room Harry had entered was still occupied - but Granger and Fudge were waiting. Both were reading - The Times in Fudge’s case, a thick physics textbook in hers. 

Ron let himself fall into the seat next to Granger’s with a theatrical sigh.

Granger slowly looked up from her book and glanced at him. “There you are. What took you so long?”

“Unlike you, I didn’t have a solicitor with me to tell the interviewer to shut up.”

“By choice, as I recall,” Fudge cut in. “The offer stood.”

“Where’s Harry?” Granger asked.

“He’s going to be a while longer,” Ron explained. “They’ll have a lot more questions for him since he shot half a dozen of them - unlike me.”

He saw her tense. Her jaw muscles slightly twitched. “You were shot,” she said. Ron heard the unsaid ‘and you almost died’.

“The vest stopped it,” he replied with a smile. “As you know.”

She sniffed in return. Not quite a huff.

“Did everything go well?” Fudge asked.

Ron shrugged. “I’d say so.” He didn’t know Brown, but Ron hadn’t given the other officer any cause to suspect him - and who would even suspect magic?

“Good, good,” Fudge replied. “Once Mr Potter is done, this whole affair should be settled.”

“For us,” Granger said. “There’s still the matter of Yaxley being at large.” 

Or dead, Ron thought.

“That shouldn’t be a source of concern for you,” Fudge told her. “He’s alone and on the run. He’s probably halfway to Brazil by now, though I dare say he’d receive a far different welcome there than a famous train robber.”

“I certainly hope so,” Granger replied.

Ron’s money was still on Yaxley having been killed by his backers. But he couldn’t mention that here or he’d run the risk of another interview - or interrogation. “So do I,” he said instead, wishing they had stopped by a bookshop on the way to headquarters - he hadn’t checked for new novels in a while. At least he had a battered copy of ‘A Civil Campaign’ to pass the time. Bujold never failed to entertain.

After half an hour spent reading in silence, Harry finally showed up. He didn’t look relieved - he looked angry.

“Those idiots!”

He also sounded angry.

“What happened?” Granger asked.

“Do you need a solicitor?” Fudge added, looking eager.

“What? No. They didn’t openly accuse me,” Harry snarled. “But the comparisons between my shooting and the shots the sniper took to murder Scrimgeour and Bones…” He shook his head. “Someone at least thinks I could have killed them.”

Well, technically, Harry could have done it - he was an excellent marksman. But he wouldn’t have done it. And he had an alibi - although it rested on Ron and Granger’s testimony. “You know how investigations by other departments are,” Ron told his friend.

“Yes. But want to bet some idiots like Dawlish believe it as well?”

That was a sucker bet. Ron shook his head.

“I don’t think too many will be sad to see us go,” Harry went on.

Ron remembered the glances they’d received coming in and nodded. Some would be envious, some would blame them for CI5 getting investigated and humiliated - and some would blame them for Bones and Scrimgeour’s deaths. “Colin will be sad, though,” he said.

That didn’t do much to console Harry. And Granger… Ron frowned as he glanced at her. She wasn’t looking at anyone or anything.

*****

_“You’re being accused of murder? Of Diggory’s murder?” She couldn’t have heard correctly. Harry had tried to save the other boy._

_“They’re ‘investigating’,” Harry told her, shrugging. “Dumbledore said they’re trying to frame me so he’ll have to expend political capital and open himself to accusations of corruption when he intervenes. They’ve been dragging up Sirius’s disappearance from Hogwarts last year.”_

_“Percy said the same thing,” Ron added. “Malfoy’s spending gold like crazy to sway the Wizengamot. And he pretty much owns Fudge.”_

_“But Diggory?” She couldn’t believe it._

_“As long as they can point at me, they won’t have to explain who killed him,” Harry said._

_“Those…” She pressed her lips together, clenching her teeth to keep from cursing the Ministry. How could they do this to Harry? Her friend was… She blinked. “You’re taking this quite well…” she trailed off, not wanting to insult him by criticising his temper._

_Harry chuckled, but without any humour. “Dumbledore warned me about this. Kept me up to date during the holidays.”_

_“Oh. So… it’s being handled?”_

_He inclined his head. “He’s got a plan. If all goes well, it’ll put a crimp into Malfoy’s scheming and expose his allies.”_

_Ron nodded. “And he’ll get leverage on Fudge.”_

_That sounded promising. But Harry was the one under investigation. For murder! “And if it doesn’t go well?”_

_He grimaced. “Well… then Dumbledore will have to step in and prove their accusations about him right.”_

_“Probably end up in an open war,” Ron added, looking grim._

_So that was why they were in Grimmauld Place instead of The Burrow. “What can we do?” she asked._

_“Nothing,” Harry told her. “It’s out of our hands until the DMLE decides to put me on trial or drop the investigation.”_

_She really didn’t like hearing that. She hated being unable to do anything. “I’ll study wizarding law, then,” she announced. “Just in case.”_

_Her friends knew her too well to point out that she wouldn’t be allowed to speak in his defence. She knew it as well. But she couldn’t just wait without doing anything._

_*****_


	13. The Tank Commander

**CI5 Headquarters, Westminster, London, July 25th, 2005**

Granger shook her head and muttered something Ron didn’t catch despite being sat next to her.

“Pardon?” Harry frowned at her.

“Nothing.” After a moment, she added: “I’ll explain later.” Meaning: once they were outside.

But as they stepped out of the building - into the interior yard, where their car was parked - Ron spotted Moody leaning against the wall near the corner, arms crossed, and watching them. No, waiting for them.

Granger had spotted him as well - Ron heard her curse. “He wants to talk,” he told her.

“I’d advise against speaking with any police officers at this stage of the investigation,” Fudge spoke up. “At least without a solicitor present.”

“It’s not that kind of talk,” Harry told the man. 

“He was our instructor,” Ron added.

“I’m aware of that,” Fudge said. “I’m also aware that he’s a very obstinate man.”

There was no point in denying that. Ron glanced at Moody again - the man hadn’t moved, but was staring at them with his good eye. They should talk to him. Not only did he deserve some sort of explanation but he’d probably track them down if they simply quit and vanished. Although he might do that anyway. On the other hand, they couldn’t leave Granger alone.

“Well, get on with it,” Granger told them. “We can wait in the car.” At Ron’s glance, she sniffed. “I’ve spoken to Officer Moody quite enough for this week.”

Ron nodded in sympathy as Harry snorted. They checked the car before letting Granger get in, then walked over to Moody.

He scoffed. “Took you long enough.”

Harry shrugged. “Had to check for traps and ambushes.”

Moody grunted in response. “Did you?”

“Yes,” Ron replied.

“Really.” Moody pushed off the wall. “Perhaps you did. This time.”

“Neither Scrimgeour nor Bones was our fault,” Harry spat.

Moody looked at him. “Yaxley was too eager. Should have noticed that.”

Ron couldn’t tell if Moody meant them or himself. Probably both.

“That’s hindsight,” Harry said, frowning.

Moody shrugged. “And it shouldn’t be hindsight.”

“We weren’t around much when Yaxley got involved,” Harry retorted. His friend was still wound up by the accusations levelled against him, Ron realised.

“I’d tell you to do better next time, but you’re not going to stay, are you?”

How had he…? Ron pressed his lips together - if Moody had been guessing, then their reaction had just given the game away.

The older man chuckled. Once. “As I thought.”

So Moody had been guessing. Swell.

“What would be the point?” Harry said, scoffing. “They blame us for the whole affair.”

“You’re no quitter, Potter. And neither is Weasley.” Moody grinned. “Matter of fact, you’d stay on to spite everyone, wouldn’t you? Unless you had another reason to quit.” He turned his head to stare at the car.

Bloody hell! Ron almost felt bad for telling Granger off for spilling information. “Someone has to protect her,” he told Moody.

“And you want to be the one.”

“She needs someone she can trust and who can do the job. Not too many of them around, are there?” Ron replied.

Moody snorted. “It’s more than that, though, isn’t it?” He glanced at Harry, then looked at Ron again. “You wouldn’t have told her to hire Fudge. In fact, you’d have told her not to hire the man. And Fudge isn’t cheap.”

“Granger’s the most famous kidnapping victim in Britain,” Harry pointed out. “Good publicity.”

“Fudge isn’t after publicity. There won’t be a trial, anyway. Someone’s paying him, and the Grangers don’t have enough money to cover his fees. Fudge quickly shut that question down when I asked the girl.”

Well, that mistake wasn’t their fault, but Dumbledore’s. “Can’t tell you,” Ron said, showing his teeth. “Loose lips sink ships.” Moody had taught them that.

“Good lad.” The older officer nodded. “Looks like you remembered at least one lesson.” He cocked his head. “But you forgot my lesson about women and work.”

“It’s not like that,” Ron told him. He wasn’t mixing work and his private affairs.

Moody shook his head with a twisted grin. “And you forgot what I told you about politics.”

“We’re just protecting a woman,” Harry told him.

“Against Russian ‘mercenaries’?” Moody shook his head. “And a woman who’s hiding something? You’re fools, lads.”

Ron clenched his teeth. They were doing the right thing.

“Unless you already know what she’s hiding.”

They didn’t react to that probe.

“Better.” Moody grinned again. “I don’t know who’s paying you - or will be paying you. But I know enough to tell you that they’re bad news. They always are, in this sort of business.”

Well, Ron couldn’t disagree with Moody there - he didn’t trust Dumbledore and Grindelwald.

“Keep your wits about you, lads. What’s left of them, in any case.” Moody nodded at them.

“We will,” Harry replied, nodding firmly.

“You better. I don’t want to hear that all that time I spent training you was wasted,” the older man said, then turned away.

*****

**No 12 Grimmauld Place, London, July 25th, 2005**

“That’s different,” Granger remarked as Harry drove their armoured car - they’d switched cars, with Fudge being driven home in the original car - down the ramp that led to the garage of Sirius and Harry’s home. 

Ron didn’t know how Sirius had managed to get planning permission for it in this neighbourhood, but he was glad for the privacy and security it granted them. If they had had to park in the yard, they would have been too exposed. Too vulnerable - Yaxley still hadn’t been caught, and Ron didn’t think that the man’s sniper was among the people Harry had killed in Clissold Park.

“Well, you don’t need a garage for brooms, do you?” Harry said as he parked the car.

Granger snorted. “Wizards don’t use brooms in the middle of London - not many are able to cast the Disillusionment Charms needed to hide them from muggles, and invisibility cloaks are expensive and don’t last long. Most use the Floo Network or the Knight Bus.”

“The bus?” Ron asked.

“An enchanted bus that covers all of Britain, providing transportation for wizards and witches who couldn’t use the Floo or apparate for one reason or another,” Granger explained. “Fast, but very uncomfortable.”

“Ah.” Ron nodded. “Do people enchant cars as well?” he asked as he got out.

“Your… I mean, my Ron’s father did. A Ford Anglia that could turn invisible and fly.”

Ron wanted one. No, he wanted his Ford Capri enchanted like that.

“I can’t do that,” Granger told him as if she had read his thoughts.

Well, perhaps he could ask the man himself, once Granger managed to open a portal.

“Harry!”

Ron jerked, almost going for his gun when he heard the yell. Who would…? 

“Ginny?” he and Harry said in unison just before Ron’s sister tackled her boyfriend. Well, technically, she hugged him, but Harry had to take a step back or he would have fallen down.

“Ginny…” Ron heard Granger mumble next to him.

“How did you…?” Harry managed to say before Ginny silenced him with a kiss. A very French kiss.

The answer, of course, was standing in the door of the lift. Sirius. And Luna.

“Hi, everyone!” Luna said, waving.

“I arranged her visit when you contacted me about staying over,” the older man told them as he approached. “Sirius Black. Enchanté!” he announced as he bowed with a flourish to Granger.

“Good afternoon, Si… sir,” she managed to say. “Thank you for having us over.”

“It’s Harry’s home,” Sirius replied. “Of course he can bring friends. Ron practically lived here for a time.”

Until he had managed to get a flat of his own.

“That was dangerous.” Apparently, Harry had finally managed to tear his face away from Ginny’s.

“I picked her up in a parking garage in the City,” Sirius said. “Just like Luna.” Whose pickup had been planned by Harry and Ron. “And I’ve got the tickets to prove that I wasn’t followed.” Which meant he had been speeding again.

“Ah.” Harry nodded - a little reluctantly.

“Yes, so you can’t complain,” Ginny told him. “Did you really think I wouldn’t visit?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned to Granger and stuck her hand out. “Hello, Dr Granger. I’m Ginny.” Of course, she would assume everyone already knew her. Well, she wasn’t wrong with regard to Granger, but not for the reasons she probably thought.

“Hello.” Granger nodded. She was quite tense, Ron noticed.

He cleared his throat. “Shall we head up? I don’t know about you, but I think the living room would be more comfortable.”

“Oh, of course!” Sirius grinned. “Unless Harry and Ginny would prefer their room.”

“Sirius!” Harry frowned at his godfather.

Ron was looking at Granger, though. She didn’t seem surprised by the remark, so she probably had expected something like that. Or she was too tense to react.

A few minutes later, everyone was settled in the living room and, apparently, the roast for dinner was in the oven. Ginny had claimed Harry’s lap, of course, but that was pretty normal for the couple. 

“So, have you quit CI5 yet?” Sirius asked while he was serving drinks. Apparently, Luna had told him their plans.

“No. We’re suspended anyway; we’ll quit once the investigation is over or it’ll look as if we’re guilty,” Harry said.

They’d look guilty anyway, Ron knew. They couldn’t tell the truth, and their soon-to-be-former colleagues would know they were hiding something.

“But you love your work!” Ginny exclaimed.

“I might love the next job more,” Harry told her. “We might be going private - that way, I would have more time travelling with you.”

“You want to become private detectives?” Ginny frowned. “Does that pay well?”

That was aimed at Ron, of course - between his inheritance and being Sirius’s heir, Harry didn’t need money. And Ginny’s job paid very well. “Private security pays reasonably well,” Ron replied.

“Really.” Ginny narrowed her eyes at him, then looked at Granger, who had been uncharacteristically silent so far. “Private security for Dr Granger.”

Ron glanced at Luna, whose smile looked a little guilty. Well, he had only himself - and Harry - to blame for that; they had arranged for Luna to stay with Sirius while they went to CI5. Of course, leaving her alone in the lab would have been out of the question.

Granger sighed. “Please excuse us for a moment. I need to talk with Luna, Mr Weasley and Mr Potter in private.” She marched into the hallway, leaving Ron and Harry to follow her.

“I think we need to tell them,” she said as soon as the door had closed behind them. 

Ron saw Luna looking relieved while Granger glanced at him as if she wanted his approval.

Well, even if they weren’t the Ginny and Sirius she knew, Ron trusted them, of course.

So he nodded in agreement. They had checked the room for bugs, anyway. Harry nodded as well, though he didn’t look relieved.

They went back to the living room, where Ginny received them with narrowed eyes, frowning at Ron as if it was his fault, then at Luna. “You knew their secret already!”

“Yes,” Luna replied. “Well, one of them. The most important one, I think. I’m sure they have more secrets.”

“Do tell!” Sirius cut in with a wide grin. “Harry is usually so close-lipped about his work. Well, I guess if he’s planning to quit, that will change.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “There’s also the matter of revealing classified information being illegal.”

“As long as you don’t get caught, who cares?” Sirius shrugged.

“This is more important than any police file,” Granger said in a clipped tone. “This cannot be told to anyone, under any circumstances. Lives depend on it. Our lives.”

To Ron’s surprise, Ginny seemed impressed - for about a second. 

“Our lips are sealed,” Sirius declared, then mimed zipping his mouth shut.

Granger studied them both for a moment - was she reconsidering her decision? - then slowly nodded and took a deep breath. “I’m not from this world. I’m a witch from a parallel dimension where magic exists and was transported to this world against my will in 1998. People mistook me for the Hermione Granger who had been kidnapped here in 1991.”

“A witch. From a parallel dimension.” The doubt in Ginny’s voice couldn’t be more obvious.

“It’s true,” Ron told her. “It’s not a prank.”

“Magic?” Sirius seemed more amused than impressed, although he didn’t openly doubt their claim. Yet.

“Magic.” Granger nodded at him. “I lost my wand, so I cannot demonstrate much - witches and wizards need specially-made wands to do most magic. But I can do this.” She held out her hand and yelled: “Accio pen!” 

At once, a silver pen left Sirius’s pocket and started to fly - slowly - towards her.

“That’s… that’s…”

Ron really enjoyed Ginny’s expression. “Go on, check for magnets or wires!” he told her.

She did, glaring at him the whole time. When she didn’t find either, she huffed. “That doesn’t prove the existence of parallel dimensions or magic!” At Harry raising his eyebrows at her, she pouted. “Ron was always watching those series on the telly and telling me about his books.”

“And you liked them,” Ron reminded her. Until she had grown ‘too old’, in her own words.

“As impressive as this demonstration is,” Sirius spoke up, “it doesn’t prove her story.”

“Dr Granger also has magic potions and a magic bag,” Ron told him.

“And she knows our counterparts,” Harry added.

“Who aren’t identical to you,” Granger pointed out, pen in hand. “But there are similarities.” She looked at Ginny and Sirius. “I knew both of your counterparts very well.”

“Not as well as she knew our counterparts, though,” Ron pointed out.

“We are both witches in Hermione’s world!” Luna exclaimed, beaming at Ginny. “And all of us were fighting an evil fascist regime!”

“What?”

Granger explained before Luna could: “Your counterparts in my world are witches like me - we all went to the same boarding school in Scotland - and when I was transported here, we were in the middle of a civil war with a dark wizard and his followers who had taken control of the country - well, the magical parts which formed Wizarding Britain; the United Kingdom wasn’t much affected - and wanted to kill all those they considered ‘impure’. Which included me.”

“Exactly!” Luna nodded several times as if this were a good thing.

“What? How old were we?”

“I arrived here on the same day I left my own world,” Granger told her. With a grim expression, she added: “We had no choice, even as children - they wanted to kill us. Well, me for being born, and my Harry for defeating the Dark Lord when he was a baby. Harry, that is - the Dark Lord was an adult at the time.”

That made both Ginny and Sirius focus on Harry. Ron’s friend wasn’t happy about it, of course. 

“And the Weasleys are purebloods, but still opposed the dark wizards,” Ron said while Ginny ran a hand over Harry’s back. “Their Ginny is a courier on a flying broom.”

As it turned out, flying on brooms apparently was a little too clichéd for his sister, and Granger had to demonstrate her bag of holding to convince Ginny that this wasn’t a hoax, psychic powers or not.

As if Ron would do such a thing. Now, the twins, on the other hand... 

*****

“You were shot and would have died without a magic potion?”

Ron winced - like their mother, his sister had a strong pair of lungs. Perhaps they shouldn’t have told her the full truth. Sirius looked rather taken aback as well. 

Well, what was done was done. Ron shrugged. “I survived. All of us did.”

“And the enemies didn’t. Well, most of them didn’t,” Harry added.

“You almost died! If Dr Granger hadn’t been there, you’d have been killed!”

“Well, you saved me,” he defended himself, looking at Granger.

“You didn’t know that I could save you,” Granger pointed out.

“Anyway, it happened. Let’s talk about something more productive, shall we?”

“How about we eat first?” Sirius asked. “The roast should be done now.”

Ron agreed at once. A good meal would soothe Ginny’s temper.

*****

“...and we became a couple in my fifth year?” Ginny asked over pudding.

“Your counterpart’s fifth year.” Granger corrected her for the umpteenth time. 

Ron wondered - privately - if he should tell her that his sister was now probably only doing it out of sheer stubbornness.

“See, your magical counterpart was smarter than you were,” Ginny said, turning to face Harry with a smirk.

Sirius laughed at her joke - or at Harry’s slightly forced smile. “Now that we’ve heard everything about our dear celebrity, how about some information about my own counterpart?” Ginny had the grace to blush at the slight admonishment, Ron noticed. If he had said that, or Mum, she would have gotten mad. Or made a scene. “Harry might not have told you, but I’m a retired officer in the British Army,” Sirius told Granger. “A tank commander, to be exact. I gather my counterpart held a similar position?”

“Ah.” Granger grimaced. “Not exactly. Your counterpart fought in the First Wizarding War and the Second Wizarding War - or the First and Second Blood War, as we called them - but as a private citizen. And in between, he was imprisoned on false charges until he broke out shortly before the Second War started. He died in our seventh year in one of the skirmishes.”

“Oh.” Sirius lost his smile. 

“Sorry,” Granger belatedly added. She looked more tired than sorry, though - but then, after being interrogated first by Moody and then by Ginny, not many wouldn’t be tired.

Sirius waved her apology away. “Don’t worry about it. Though are you certain that you want to return? Your world sounds like a nightmare.”

Ron rolled his eyes. Sirius sometimes was terribly blunt, and Ron had never managed to find out if it was by design or if was merely carelessness.

“Yes,” Granger stated in a flat voice, “I’m certain. Deadly certain. I’m not going to abandon my friends in the middle of a war.”

Luna nodded in obvious agreement as Ron refrained from pointing out that Granger had, involuntarily, of course, done exactly that.

“Very noble,” Sirius said. “Although are you planning to drag Harry and his friends into your war?”

“What?” Granger shook her head, sending her ponytail whipping about. “Of course not! This isn’t their war. And they couldn’t do much, anyway, without magic.”

Ron clenched his teeth. He wasn’t useless. 

“You don’t strike me as bulletproof,” Harry commented with a glare. “And I didn’t get the impression that you were a particularly weak witch.”

“Many places are protected by Muggle-Repelling Charms,” Granger shot back. “You wouldn’t be able to enter those areas, much less fight anyone. And those spells can be cast in combat as well. Imagine suddenly forgetting that you’re fighting and wandering off in the middle of a battle!”

That was a terrifying prospect, Ron had to admit. And yet, there were more ways to fight than directly attacking the enemy. “That doesn’t make us useless,” he told her. “We just need to pick our fights. And you can protect us against such spells, can’t you?”

“Not very effectively,” she replied. “It’s easier to cast such spells than dispel them.”

“You aren’t seriously planning to fight in a magic civil war?” Sirius asked, staring at them.

“Of course he is,” Ginny replied - rather snidely, in Ron’s opinion. “It’s like one of his books, but he gets to take his guns with him.”

This wasn’t the time to educate Ginny about fantasy and science fiction novels. Ron shook his head. He turned to Granger. “You don’t have your wand. You were, in your own words, one of Britain’s most wanted witches. How long will you last, alone, if your enemies are still fighting - or have won?”

She glared at him and raised her chin. “Longer than you would!”

“And do you really think Dumbledore and Grindelwald would let you enter alone?” Ron pointed out. “We’re not wizards, but you’ll need us.”

“And me!” Luna piped up. “I’m no witch, but, as you said, most of your world isn’t any different from our own. I know how to fly under the radar.”

“Unless it’s literally flying under the radar,” Ginny added with a grin. “On a broom.”

Sirius shook his head. “Jokes aside, this is a very, very dangerous course of action.”

“Yes, which is why they should stay here,” Granger quickly said. She looked at Ron. “I’m very grateful for your help - I owe you my freedom and possibly my life - but this isn’t your war. You’ve got your family and life here.”

That was true. But it was his life. And Ron was the one who decided when to risk it. And for what or whom. “So?” he said. “Mum and Dad taught us all to do what’s right, not what’s easy.”

Contrary to his expectations, that line shut her up.

It didn’t shut up Sirius, of course - there wasn’t much, if anything, that would shut up the man, in Ron’s experience. “Boys! I’ve been to war. It’s not heroic, it’s not fun - it’s bloody dangerous! And this isn’t even a proper war - it’s a damn civil war. Insurrections. Death squads. Like that mess in Iraq. And with magic! Not even a tank would protect you, I wager!”

“Hermione’s going back to war,” Luna pointed out.

“Into a witch war, where we couldn’t do anything. We wouldn’t have dragged civilians into combat in the Falklands,” Sirius replied.

“We’re not civilians,” Harry shot back.

“You’re not a soldier, either,” Ginny told him. “You’re a police officer.” Who had killed more people in the line of duty than Sirius, as Ron knew.

“And we’re probably better prepared for this kind of war,” Ron said. “We’ve fought terrorists before.”

“You haven’t fought wizards,” Granger told him.

“The basic principles are the same,” he told her, hoping that he was correct.

“You don’t know anything about magical combat,” Sirius said. “How can you prepare for a war if you don’t know what the enemy can do?”

“Dr Granger can tell us,” Harry said.

“You could probably give us a lecture on magical combat,” Ron added with a grin.

No one seemed to find that funny, though. Granger glared at him, though he had expected that.

“I don’t want you to go to war,” Ginny told Harry. “I already worry about you when you are at work.”

“We don’t know if there’s a war,” Ron said. “It’s been seven years since Dr Granger left.”

“The First Blood War lasted a decade, depending on what you consider its start” - Granger proved his earlier joke correct - “Most put the start at the first use of the Dark Mark following an attack, but some - correctly, I believe - attribute several killings of key government officials in the months before that to the Death Eaters, and, therefore, consider the war to have started with those murders.”

“And what if the war’s over and the enemy won? Won’t they detect the portal, gate, whatever you’re building? And what if they invade us?” Sirius changed tack.

“They haven’t invaded muggle Britain. Why would they go after a whole new world without magic?” Granger retorted. “There’s nothing here that they couldn’t get in my world. There’s precious little that they would want in the first place.”

“There’s you,” Sirius said.

Ron saw her purse her lips before she answered: “They wouldn’t know it was my doing. I’d leave the country - go to France, probably. Claim I’d been hiding for seven years.”

“Would anyone who knew you believe that?” Ron asked her.

She glared at him, then spat: “I can’t leave my friends to their fates!”

He didn’t look at her while she wiped her eyes after her outburst.

“Of course you couldn’t!” Luna said, glaring at the others, including Ron. “And we won’t let you go back alone.”

“I said that all along, didn’t I?” Ron pointed out.

“I know why he’s going - he’s stupid,” Ginny snapped. “But why are you going?” she asked Harry.

“Ron’s my best friend,” Harry said as if that explained it.

Well, it did. It also made Ron the target of both Sirius and Ginny’s glares.

He met them with a smile. Sometimes, you had to do what was right, not what was easy. And it didn’t hurt that doing the right thing would let him visit another dimension - a realm of magic.

“And what about the risk to our world?” Sirius wouldn’t let this go.

“We’ll minimise it, as I said,” Granger replied. “We’ll sneak in. There are a few caches we had prepared, in case the worst came to pass. I can get a new wand there and other supplies. Then we can gather information - and stay in muggle Britain, where it’s safer.”

“Yes! We know all about hiding from the authorities!” Luna cheered.

“If the situation is… worse than anticipated, we’ll return at once and discuss further steps.” She cocked her head at Sirius. “Is that acceptable?”

“I want to be involved,” he shot back.

“We can do that,” Harry said at once. “Granger’s calling the shots, after all.”

“The Phoenix Gruppe is funding you.” Sirius shook his head. “I knew I should have bought a Scorpion for old time’s sake when New Zealand sold theirs.”

“They were broken,” Harry told him. “They never worked.”

“They could have been fixed. I’ve got the money.”

“And you wouldn’t have been allowed to keep the gun functional,” Harry went on.

“Phoenix Gruppe could replace it.”

“And you don’t have a crew for it.” Harry glared at him. “And no, we won’t play crew for you.”

“I could drive!” Luna piped up. “Daddy taught me how to drive tracked vehicles.”

Ron was suddenly very glad that Sirius didn’t actually have a tank.

“Well… Some of those Scorpions should still be available, for the right price.” Sirius rubbed his chin. “And it would be a nice vehicle to get around the estate with if it’s too cold or wet for the horses. Fastest tank, ever!”

“Sirius!” Harry all but hissed. “You just told us that this isn’t a conventional war. It’s an insurrection! A magical civil war! There’s no place for a light tank. Or any tank!”

“Tanks are very useful in insurrections. They protect you much better than other vehicles,” the older man retorted.

“A Scorpion’s not a Challenger,” Ron pointed out, ignoring Luna’s frown - presumably at having her tank driving dreams spoiled.

“Indeed,” Granger cut in, “a tank of any kind would be completely useless in the kind of war we fought. It’s not mobile enough to actually reach a fight before it’s over, and it would be quite easily dealt with by a competent wizard. Even if it were too large to be transfigured into cheese or something similar, a bog could be conjured right underneath it, sinking it in seconds.”

“You need to see the tank first before you can destroy it,” Sirius replied. “We were very good at hiding and preparing ambushes. And the gun will hit an enemy out to two thousand yards.”

“And what if the fight is in the middle of a city?” Ron asked.

“Hermione can turn it invisible!” Luna said. “They’ll never see it coming.”

“They’ll hear it,” Harry replied.

“She can silence it as well! Or shrink it and carry it with her!”

Luna was far too enthusiastic about tank warfare, in Ron’s opinion.

“That’s an excellent idea, Luna!”

And so was Sirius.

“I can’t just wave my wand - if I had one - to turn a tank invisible and silent,” Granger told him. “Well, I could, with serious effort. But that wouldn’t be a proper enchantment. And it might affect the tank’s electronics.”

“But others could do it?”

“Yes,” Granger admitted. “But that still leaves the problem of actually transporting a tank - first through a portal, and then to a hiding place - and it still wouldn’t be useful. Not to mention that driving an invisible tank on the road would be a danger to all the other road users.”

Ron could imagine that. But he could also imagine how enchanting the thing to fly would solve that issue - provided it kept low to the ground to avoid air traffic. And… “How fast could a vehicle fly?” he asked.

He thought Granger mumbled ‘not you as well’ under her breath, but he wasn’t sure. She certainly glared at him, though.

*****

Two hours later, he licked his lips, took a deep breath, then knocked on the door to her room. “Dr Granger?”

After a few seconds - which felt much longer - he heard her voice. “Yes?”

“Are you decent?”

“That’s a peculiar way of asking if you can enter my room,” came the more than slightly sarcastic reply.

“Is that a yes?”

For a moment, he feared he had pushed too far, but then the door opened, and Granger was frowning at him. She was decent - sort of. Her tank top and shorts were a little more revealing than he was used to from her - not counting his dreams. It also made him, still in his slacks and shirt, feel slightly overdressed.

“Can I come in?”

She scoffed but stepped to the side. Bare feet - no wonder he hadn’t heard her steps. 

“I’ll take that to mean yes,” he said lightly as he stepped past her, making her snort.

“So, why did you want to visit?” she asked as she closed the door.

He sat down on the chair at the desk - which was covered in parchment and smiled, if a little weakly. “I came to apologise. I got a little carried away. Sorry.” But who wouldn’t have been enthusiastic about a flying, invisible tank?

She sniffed. “You and everyone else but for Harry and Ginny.” She blinked. “Mr Potter and Miss Weasley, I mean.” Who had retired to Harry’s room shortly after dessert, for obvious reasons.

“You know,” he told her, “we’ve been in three shoot-outs together now. Shouldn’t we start using our first names?”

She laughed at that - though it sounded a little forced... no, reluctant - as she sat down on the bed. “I guess there are a few things you can’t share without ending up liking each other, hm?”

That sounded like a comment with a lot of backstory. “You seem to be speaking from experience,” he told her.

She snorted. “Did I ever tell you how I became best friends with my Harry and my Ron?”

He shook his head. “Not in detail. You were in the same year at your magical boarding school.”

“The same house. But that wasn’t the reason we became friends - well, in a way, it was.” She shook her head. “It started with a troll breaking into the school, and me having a cry in the bathroom...”

*****

“You fought a twelve-foot-tall troll?” He couldn’t quite keep the incredulity out of his voice.

“I mostly cowered. Ron - my Ron - and my Harry fought it. And defeated it,” she replied.

‘My Ron’ grated on his nerves. It sounded so possessive. Or something. And all that after he made her cry? “And that happened at your school.”

“It was a diversion for an attempt to steal the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“That’s real?”

“Was real. It was destroyed after our first year. At least that’s what we were told.” She shrugged. “It might have been a lie to protect its owner. At the time, we didn’t question it.”

“Dumbledore told you that?” He raised his eyebrows.

“My world’s Dumbledore.” She narrowed her eyes at his expression. “He wasn’t like this one’s.”

“Or was better at hiding it,” Ron retorted.

She bit her lower lip at that, even as she glared at him. He refrained from smirking - it was obvious that she wanted to contradict him, but couldn’t. Not without lying.

“Anyway, that was a horrible experience.”

“Your school years weren’t exactly perfectly safe, either,” she told him.

Pettigrew. He remembered that she’d read about the incident in that stupid magazine. Shrugging, he said: “We were just facing a man. Not a monster.”

Her sniff told him that she wasn’t falling for his attempt to downplay the incident. But she wasn’t pushing, either. He nodded. “Well, I can see why you three became best friends.” Events like that forged bonds. Like combat.

She smiled in return. She looked nostalgic - a little sad as well.

He stood. “Well, I should head to bed.”

She slipped off the bed. “It’s getting late.”

For a moment, they faced each other without saying anything. Ron had the sudden urge to lean forward and embrace her. Instead, he nodded again. “Goodnight, Hermione.”

“Goodnight, Ron.”

He kept smiling all the way to his room.

*****

**No 12 Grimmauld Place, London, July 26th, 2005**

Between Harry’s odd hours as a police officer, and Ginny’s career leading to her travelling the globe, they were effectively having a long-distance relationship. Ron knew that. He also knew that neither of them liked it, even though they wouldn’t consider changing careers, either. And he was no stranger to seeing both of them tired but very happy at the breakfast table.

But he couldn’t help envying them. He hadn’t had a steady relationship since Luna - few women could handle his working hours and the danger. Harry was very lucky that Ginny could.

He sighed as he refilled his cup and grabbed The Times.

“Is something wrong, Ron?” Ginny asked.

“Hm?” He raised his head and looked at her, hoping very much that she was wearing something under that robe. Unlike the time she had surprised Harry at home, and Ron had happened to visit as well. She didn’t sound smug, he noted. Which meant this was Ginny trying to help him. Damn. “I’m fine. Just a little tired - I didn’t sleep too well,” he lied.

“Oh?” She looked at the empty spot at the table.

He rolled his eyes. “Not like that.” Not like them.

“So nothing happened?” Harry asked.

Ron frowned at his friend. Harry had been very much occupied, so how had he noticed Ron’s visit? “Did you bug the hallway?”

“Luna didn’t want to disturb you two,” Ginny revealed.

“Where is she, anyway?”

“Checking the net,” Harry replied. “She wanted to catch a friend of hers before they went to bed.”

Ron pressed his lips together. Luna didn’t have friends on the net - she had contacts. 

“Don’t try to distract us!” Ginny cut in. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Ron told her. “I just apologised to Hermione for annoying her with our talk about flying tanks.”

“Oh! It’s ‘Hermione’ now?” Ginny smirked.

He rolled his eyes. “There are a few things you can’t share without ending up liking each other...” he started to quote Hermione.

“Oh, really? It’s not the other way around?”

Of course she would misunderstand what he meant! And Harry was chuckling.

Ron shook his head and focused on The Times.

*****

“So, which shop are we hitting first?” Ginny asked an hour later, as they gathered in the entrance hall. “You have to pretty much buy a whole household, right? For your new home? Clothes, furniture, cosmetics, bedsheets, favourite mug and teapot...”

“Books,” Ron said. He didn’t think A Feast for Crows was out already, but perhaps...

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, nodding.

“Seriously?” Ginny shook her head, though she seemed amused rather than annoyed. “Well, I should have expected that. When Ron moved out, he bought shelves for his books before he bothered buying non-essential stuff like pans, pots and dishes…” 

Perhaps she was a little annoyed, Ron corrected himself. “Well, my favourite book shop is on the way to whatever other shops we need to visit.”

“Only if you’re driving,” Harry said.

“You’re not driving with Ginny around,” Ron replied with a grin.

“Hey!” Ginny glared at him.

“And they have all the magazines I need, too!” Luna chimed in, if a little belatedly. Well, she had visited the shop often enough when they were a couple, Ron reminded himself.

“Let’s go then,” Sirius said. “We can take the SUV.”

Which would fit all six of them comfortably and leave enough room in the boot for essential purchases.

“So, are you a fan of fantasy novels?” Ginny asked as they descended the stairs. “Or do you think they are weird, having real magic?”

“I prefer non-fiction books, actually,” Hermione told her.

“That covers a lot since magic has been revealed to be real,” Luna said. “How many fantasy novels could be considered ‘based on a true story’?”

“Those aren’t exactly non-fiction,” Hermione replied.

“Certainly not if written by Skeeter,” Harry added.

And that killed the conversation until they reached the garage. “I’m driving,” Sirius announced. “It’s my car.”

“His replacement tank,” Ginny stage-whispered to Hermione.

“It actually has better all-round armour than his tank,” Luna pointed out. “This car’s got B7-level of ballistic protection.”

“It lacks a gun, though,” Sirius complained. “And it’s not quite as able in rough terrain.”

“Because it weighs almost as much as a tank,” Harry said.

“Speed isn’t armour,” Ron told him. The Royal Navy had learned that at the Battle of Jutland.

“Stop complaining about my car and get in, everyone!” Sirius exclaimed, clapping his hands. “We don’t have all day!”

Ron ended up in the middle row, next to Hermione, with Harry and Ginny in the back and Luna riding shotgun.

“At least we’re not behind the lovebirds,” he told Hermione as they stopped at the first crossing.

She laughed, briefly, and nodded. “Oh, I’ve seen worse.”

He saw her smile fade a little and her eyes unfocus as she remembered - right before a bullet struck the windshield and Luna screamed.

*****

_“What?” Harry all but yelled. She controlled herself better, but she felt the same._

_“I said I’m not going into hiding.” Ginny glared at him, hands on her hips. “You haven’t gone deaf over the summer, have you?”_

_“But…”_

_Ginny cut him off. “If you can risk your life fighting them, I can do my part, too.”_

_“You’re sixteen,” she pointed out to the other witch._

_“I fought Death Eaters when I was fifteen!” Ginny retorted. “You were there, Hermione!”_

_She knew that. “But that was before they took over the Ministry. Now they can use the Trace to track you. You’d be a liability.”_

_Ginny scoffed. “The Trace? Please! Bill got rid of it.”_

_“What?”_

_“What did you expect? He’s a Curse-Breaker, and it’s a standard enchantment. Easy to dispel if you know how.” Ginny grinned. “Mum and Dad asked him to do it so I would be able to use magic if I was in danger.”_

_“I don’t think they want you to risk yourself,” Harry said._

_“Tough.” Ginny scoffed again. “I’m already in danger as a blood-traitor. And you need all the help you can get.”_

_She stiffened. Did Ginny know about their task? How?_

_“Oh, relax!” The other witch shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re supposed to do. But I know Harry has an important task - I know him, after all,” she added, smiling at the still scowling Harry. “So, I’ll be joining you.”_

_She shook her head. “No, you won’t!”_

_“The hell I won’t!”_

_“We’ve been training for this for a year. You haven’t,” she told her. “You wouldn’t be risking just yourself, you’d put all of us at risk. And especially Harry.” Without Occlumency, Ginny wouldn’t be able to resist the Horcruxes’ effect. Not after what she went through with the diary._

_“This isn’t about being able to fight,” Harry explained._

_“What?” Ginny exclaimed._

_She glared at Harry. He was coming close to revealing their task. Dumbledore had been quite clear about the need to keep it a secret - from everyone._

_“Please. You can’t come with us.” He embraced her. “I’m sorry.”_

_She turned and left them when Ginny started to cry._

*****


	14. The Road Trip

**Islington, London, July 26th, 2005**

A spiderweb of cracks covered half the windshield as Sirius pressed the gas pedal and the SUV accelerated across the crossing. Another shot hit the windshield and also failed to penetrate. Luna stopped screaming and ducked down. Hermione grabbed her bag.

Sniper, Ron thought. Just like with Scrimgeour and Bones. If not for the bulletproof glass, Sirius would’ve been hit - and possibly killed. He drew his gun. “Expect company!” he snapped. They had shot at the driver to immobilise them.

“Can’t see anyone,” Harry reported. “Looks… there! Three o’clock, Mercedes, speeding.”

Ron glanced over his shoulder as Sirius turned, driving away from the approaching car. Or trying to - the armoured SUV wasn’t exactly a race car. But if the other car was catching up, that meant it wasn’t armoured very much.

Harry had come to the same conclusion since he was already climbing over his seat into the boot, where they had placed their bags. “Get down!” he yelled as he rifled through the sports bag, pulling out his carbine.

Hermione was still rummaging through her bag, so Ron pushed her head down to the bench, ignoring her yelp of protest. “They won’t send just one car after us!” Not after Clissold Park. He looked around. He knew this area. If they wanted to catch the SUV in a pincer attack… “They’ll cut us off at the next crossing!” 

The first shots were hitting the rear of the car, but Harry had the carbine out and yelled: “Get down! I’m opening the rear window!”

“What?” Hermione yelped.

“He needs to shoot back,” Ron explained. 

“Hold on!” Sirius screamed. A moment later, the car almost rolled over as he took a too-tight turn on to the pavement, narrowingly avoiding getting rammed by another Mercedes from the side. Screaming pedestrians were jumping to the side as Sirius accelerated next to the Mercedes.

They would be trying to pass them, to cut them off, Ron knew. Probably got stuck in traffic or they would’ve attacked at the same time as the other car. “Stay down!” he yelled, lunging over Hermione to hit the button to lower the window on her side as the two vehicles drove parallel to one another. And the windows on the Mercedes were being lowered as well!

Ron was a little faster, however, starting to fire while the bloke opposite him was still moving his SMG around to take aim. Most of Ron’s bullets missed, but one clipped the man’s head, and he fell back, taking his SMG with him. 

But the man’s accomplice had brought his own gun to bear, and Ron had to duck down as a volley of bullets hit the armoured window. He did a tactical reload under cover.

“Ginny, lower the window!” Harry yelled.

Ron glanced over - his friend had his carbine ready. A moment later, the window started to open. Harry jammed the muzzle through the gap as soon as it was wide enough and opened fire. A burst went wide when Sirius drove over something - Ron hoped it wasn’t someone - and the car bucked, but the next burst was on target, and the shooter went down. Ron came up again and emptied his magazine through the open window of the passenger seat.

The car swerved to the side and crashed into a parked limousine. Either Ron had hit the driver, or they had lost control while evading.

That left the Mercedes behind them. Where at least two people were busy peppering Sirius’s car with SMGs or rifles.

“Get down! Now I’m opening the rear window!” Harry yelled.

“I can use Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder!” Granger shouted.

“No need,” Harry replied.

“Save it for emergencies!” Ron added, crouching on his seat, stabilising himself with his free hand as he took aim at the driver side of the pursuing car.

Harry flipped the window - or what was left of it - open and they started firing.

The other car’s windshield wasn’t armoured to the same degree as Sirius’s, and Harry’s first salvo put several holes into it. Ron didn’t see if his own shots hit anything since the Mercedes abruptly pulled to the right and rolled over. The shooter hanging out of a window on the passenger side wasn’t quick enough to either get out or back inside and was caught between the vehicle and the street as the car rolled over them, while the shooter on the driver side was thrown clear and landed on the pavement, hard.

“Any others?” Sirius yelled.

“Don’t see anyone,” Ron called back after looking around.

“Keep driving!” Harry snapped. “The sniper’s still out there!”

“I am!” Sirius retorted. “To CI5!”

“No!” Harry, Ron and Hermione yelled in unison.

“They’ll expect that,” Ron went on. “We need to ditch the car and disappear.”

“That sounds familiar,” Hermione mumbled as they took another turn.

“We can take the Tube,” Harry said.

“I hope my insurance covers attacks by terrorists,” Sirius complained as he swerved around a slower car. “This car was expensive.”

“You were planning to buy a tank yesterday,” Harry told him.

“That’s different! And a tank wouldn’t have been wrecked like this! Hey, Dr Granger - can you repair it with magic?”

“If I had a wand. But I wouldn’t do it, anyway, since repairing the car would reveal the existence of magic,” Hermione replied.

“Focus on the street!” Harry yelled. “There might be more of them around, and we’re vulnerable.”

“We’re also attracting a great deal of attention,” Ron pointed out.

“Can’t be helped,” Sirius retorted.

“Which is why we need to ditch the car,” Harry repeated Ron’s argument.

Five minutes later, as they rushed down into the next Tube station, with their larger weapons stashed in Hermione’s bag, almost trampling some of the slower commuters, Ron couldn’t help thinking that an invisible flying car would have been very handy right now.

*****

**Greenwich, London, July 26th, 2005**

An hour and several stations later, they were in Greenwich. Ron didn’t think anyone had managed to tail them - there was a lot of surveillance on the Tube, but few would be able to access it.

“Where are we going?” Hermione, her distinctive hair hidden under a cap she had pulled out of her bag, asked as soon as they entered a narrow side alley.

“We’ve got a car parked around here, for emergencies,” Harry told her.

“Another one?” She shook her head. “How many of them do you have?”

“Not enough,” Ron replied with a grin.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s a quote from Moody, right?”

“Right.”

“Figures.”

“Can we all fit into it? Or does Hermione need to shrink some of us? If so, I volunteer,” Luna said after they had crossed another street, perking up for the first time since the attack.

“We just need the money in the car and some gear, then we’ll buy a used van,” Harry told her. Ron frowned at his friend as Luna’s mood fell again.

“And what will we do then?” Hermione asked. “That was the third attack. And right after our visit to CI5.”

“You mean there’s another mole? After the police started checking the entire department?” Sirius sounded incredulous. 

“Or they had you under surveillance,” Harry said. “Or Ginny.”

“What?” Ron’s sister whirled on Harry. “You mean this was my fault?”

“No,” Harry was quick to reply. “Most likely, they had Grimmauld Place under surveillance. Yaxley would have been able to get the address.”

Ron agreed. “We should have expected this. It was our fault.” They had already known that their families were in danger. But they hadn’t expected things to escalate like this. Not after the Secret Service had become involved as well. They should have, of course. Moody would have their hides. Well, if they weren’t going to quit CI5 anyway.

“You can’t go into hiding for the rest of your life!” Ginny snapped.

“It’s only until I finish my project,” Hermione said.

“Really? And they’ll magically stop looking for you?” Sirius shook his head. “Even if you return to your world, they’ll keep searching. And they’ll go after Harry and Ron to find out where you are. Or the Grangers here. Should everyone have to hide forever?”

Ron saw Hermione pale a little at that. “But…” She trailed off, biting her lower lip.

“Or to get leverage on you,” Luna added.

“That means we’ll have to find Yaxley and whoever else is behind this, and stop them,” Ron said. Before the information about Hermione’s origin - and it couldn’t be anything else that would drive anyone to risk so much - spread. 

“But you quit CI5,” Ginny retorted.

“Technically, we’re still police officers. Just on leave,” Harry told her. “But you’re right - we don’t have access to CI5’s resources. We’ll have to rely on Dumbledore and Grindelwald.”

“What?” Sirius said. “You don’t trust them.”

“We don’t,” Harry confirmed. “But we don’t have any alternative. We can’t trust CI5, either.” 

“And the government can’t know about this, or we’ll all get disappeared!” Luna said, nodding several times.

And she might be correct, Ron knew. But they really didn’t have any other options. “We also need to inform CI5 about the attack. And that we’ll be going into hiding again,” he said as they finally reached the garage they had rented under an assumed name.

“At least they can’t complain about that,” Sirius muttered. 

“They’ll complain anyway,” Harry told him. “Especially Dawlish.”

Hermione sniffed at the name. 

“Was his counterpart a Death Eater?” Luna asked.

“No, just an idiot,” Hermione replied.

“No different to ours, then,” Ron added with a smirk as he opened the boot and pulled out the bag hidden under the spare tyre. “Here are the burner phones. We’ll have to wait on calling CI5 or Dumbledore until we’re moving, though.”

“I know,” Ginny said with a glare. “I’m not stupid.”

“We’ll have to take the car and buy a van,” Ron continued, ignoring her outburst. She had just been shot at, after all.

“You and Harry?” Hermione asked.

“No. Harry will stay with you.” Ron looked at his friend, then glanced at Ginny.

“Right.”

“And you can’t come with us since we don’t have fake IDs prepared for you,” Ron told the others. The Met would be out in force - they had barely managed to leave the area of the attack before it had been locked down.

“I have a fake ID of my own!” Luna spoke up.

Of course she’d have one! “You didn’t mention that before.”

“I didn’t want to force you into a conflict of loyalties,” Luna told him. “Between your duty as a police officer to investigate a crime and your friendship with me.”

“Will it stand up to a check?” Harry asked. “They won’t just glance at it.” Their own were in the system. Illegal, but effective, as Moody would say.

“Oh, it will!” Luna nodded with a wide smile. “The government’s computer security isn’t as good as they think it is. Sabotaged by the shadow government so they can manipulate them more easily.”

“You hacked the government’s databases?” Sirius laughed. “Oh, that’s great.”

It was also highly illegal, of course.

“I didn’t say that!” Luna replied - but her smile confirmed it.

“Well, let’s go then,” Ron said.

*****

**East End, London, July 26th, 2005**

Ron’s black beard itched. As did his black wig. But the beard was worse. And while the wig barely reached his shoulders, the beard scratched his chest whenever he looked down. Compared to that, wearing leather biker clothes in summer was only a mild annoyance. If Hermione had her wand, she probably could have conjured a perfectly comfortable disguise. Or a magical disguise - hadn’t she mentioned a potion to change one’s shape?

But if Hermione had her wand, they wouldn’t need to disguise themselves at all, since she could teleport them around. Until she went back to her world.

He shook his head. He had to focus on buying a van, not on what-ifs. 

“That’s your best van, mister?”

At least Luna wasn’t getting distracted by her disguise. The Daisy Dukes and the jeans vest over a hot pink crop top with a matching headband weren’t too far from her usual outfits. And a blonde hippie-esque girlfriend fit a biker.

“Oh, yes. German quality. You can’t kill a van like this!”

That was because it looked like it had been killed twice already and then stitched back together with parts from two other vans afterwards.

“Really?” Luna bent down to study the wheels and the undercarriage. 

Ron caught the middle-aged used car vendor staring at her bottom and growled, which made the lech back off and pale a little. Sometimes, maintaining your cover fit the situation perfectly.

“It looks like it’ll hold up!” Luna announced, with her head halfway under the car.

Ron nodded - he trusted her assessment - and turned towards the vendor. “How much?” 

A few minutes of haggling later, they were the proud owners of an old, battered Volkswagen van that could have fit into any seventies road trip movie. And which smelled as if it had served as a marijuana delivery van ever since that decade.

Well, it only needed to last the trip back to Scotland.

And, as Ron found out quickly, it did handle decently. “Good choice,” he told Luna as he steered the van out of the vendor’s parking lot.

“Thanks! It’s perfect! No one will suspect that a few good people taking on a world-wide conspiracy would ever drive such an obviously rebellious van!”

“They wouldn’t?”

“Of course not! They’d expect us to try and fit in by driving the most average, boring car!”

“Hm. Like the Dursleys?” That would fit them like a glove, in Ron’s opinion.

“Harry’s boring relatives?”

“Harry’s greedy relatives,” he corrected her. They only ever visited Harry and Sirius to ‘network’, as far as he knew. “But they’re boring, too.” 

She snorted. “Sheep controlled by the state media.”

Ron nodded in agreement as he slowed down at the next crossing. “Say, did you hack Dumbledore’s systems?”

“Oh, I wish!” He didn’t have to look at her to know she was pouting. “But his system is frustratingly good. I have to be extra-careful to worm my way into it, and, so far, I haven’t gotten very far, yet.”

“Well, you knew he was good, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but I didn’t fully realise just how good he is!” She huffed and crossed her arms, sliding down in her seat. “Old people shouldn’t have such good computer security!”

“He probably has hired help doing that for him.”

“No doubt. But people like him are supposed to be so arrogant that they sabotage their own security. He’s not cooperating.”

Ron suppressed a laugh at that.

“You know,” Luna went on, “perhaps this attack was a false flag operation by Dumbledore. To scare Hermione into returning to her secret lab as soon as possible.” She sat up straight again and leaned over. “What do you think?”

“It’s possible,” he said - it certainly wasn’t impossible. Just unlikely. “But I think he wouldn’t have needed to do this, and he knows that. Hermione won’t stay away from her lab for long.”

Luna snorted. “Everyone has a weakness, and they know hers!”

He took the next turn, then shrugged again. “Or they think they do.” Hermione wasn’t as easily led along by the nose as Dumbledore might think. But she wasn’t as skilled at subterfuge as she thought she was, either.

“You like her.”

He still had wet dreams featuring her. But that wasn’t a subject he would ever talk about with anyone. So he picked the safe answer. “She saved my life.”

Luna sniffed. “That’s true, and yet not. You know what I mean.”

He shrugged. “She’s smart and stubborn. And a witch.”

“And you like her.”

He tilted his head. Not quite nodding.

Luna snorted again, looking pleased. “She would probably be good for you. And you for her.”

“She’s going back to her world,” he pointed out. “Where her Ron is waiting.” Who could work magic and had been her best friend for years. Ron hated him already.

“Mhh.” Luna was smiling.

He didn’t ask what she was thinking. She was too optimistic, anyway.

*****

**Greenwich, London, July 26th, 2005**

“Please tell me that this is actually a carefully disguised high-end vehicle that only looks like a rust heap.”

Hermione obviously didn’t know much about cars. “This is a classic,” Ron told her as he got out of the van next to their temporary hideout.

“And it’s mechanically sound,” Luna added. “None of the important parts are rusting.”

“So we won’t die to mechanical failure. We will die from blood poisoning after sitting down amidst rusty edges and the accumulated dirt of several decades.” Hermione sniffed the air. “It smells like cannabis.”

“Olfactory camouflage,” Ron replied. “Better shower before visiting Mum and Dad,” he added, nodding at Ginny.

“I’m coming with you.” 

“What?”

She was pushing her chin forward and glaring at him. “It’s the safest course of action.”

“We’re being hunted,” Ron retorted. “We’re certainly not safe.” And more people would now be wondering why someone was using so many resources to get Hermione. They might not realise that she could do magic, but they would soon understand that her research had to be more valuable than everyone had thought.

“It’s safer than being separated.” She nodded at Harry. “People know about us. They’ll try to get me to get to him no matter where I am. And the usual security on the tour won’t be able to stop them. Not when they’re willing to attack like they did today.”

She was right about that, of course. The people after Hermione had attacked in the middle of London, on a busy day, twice so far. They might attempt to grab Ginny from the court. And Ron didn’t think that they’d care how many spectators got hurt or killed during an attempt, either. But there were better alternatives to coming with them. “You’d be safer with Mum and Dad.”

“They’d lock me up in the house. Perhaps the basement,” she shot back.

“Dad wouldn’t!” Ron shook his head.

“Mum would.”

Luna giggled as she nodded in agreement. Ron sighed. Mum was a little overprotective. Still… “There’s also protective custody.”

“So I can be locked up in a basement without anyone I know?” Ginny sneered. “I’m coming with you. If it’s safe enough for Hermione and Luna, it’s safe enough for me.”

“It’s not exactly safe,” Hermione pointed out. “We don’t know how far we can trust our ‘hosts’.”

“So? I couldn’t trust whoever the police sent to guard me, either.”

Harry hadn’t said anything so far. Ron looked at him, and his friend shrugged. So, he wasn’t going to be any help. Ron ground his teeth. He didn’t like going there, but… “You’d be another person we have to protect, though, making our task harder.” She should get the hint now.

Ginny’s glare intensified - she knew what he insinuated. “Have you forgotten how many self-defence courses I had to take before Harry stopped being stupid? I can remind you,” she added, taking a step towards him. “And it would count as the regular training Harry also insists I do.” 

Ron scowled at her. He could take her in a straight fight. Usually. But she’d probably manage to hurt him - she was too fit, too trained and too nasty to be easily subdued. He glared at Harry, instead. That was his friend’s fault. 

Sirius laughed. “She’s got you there, Ron.”

Ron eyed the older man. “Let me guess: You want to come as well.”

“I am coming with you as well,” Sirius said, grinning. “Everything that applies to Ginny applies to me as well. And I know how to handle a gun.”

“As long as it’s strapped to a tank,” Harry cut in.

“I’m a qualified marksman with combat experience,” Sirius shot back. “If Ginny can come, I can come, too.”

Ron decided to blame Harry for that as well.

*****

**Near Hackthorpe, Cumbria, Britain, July 27th, 2005**

“This was a bad idea,” Ron heard Hermione mutter before her head appeared next to him as she squeezed through the gap between his and the front passenger seat.

“Hm?” he asked, glancing at her before focusing on the road again. Even - or especially - right after midnight, the motorways weren’t free of dangers.

“Nothing,” she replied in a whisper, leaning back in the passenger seat. “Can’t sleep with the air smelling like a hemp plantation. And the lumpy seats.”

“The others don’t seem to have problems sleeping,” he commented. 

She sniffed. “Sirius’s claims that the military taught him to be able to sleep anywhere, any time, might not have been bragging. Harry and Ginny are using each other as pillows. And Luna…”

“I know.” Luna could sleep in any seat as long as it was soft enough.

“I’m going to smell like a pothead for days. At least I can ditch the clothes afterwards.”

“You shouldn’t,” he said.

“Why not? Do you think I’ll need them as a disguise again?”

“Yes. But also, you look good in that dress,” he said, without thinking.

He knew without looking at her that she was frowning at him with narrowed eyes before she snorted. “Thank you. But the seventies aren’t me.”

“Vintage fashion is a thing,” he told her. And the strong colours of the dress did suit her. Just as the short hemline suited her legs.

“A thing, yes. Not a _good_ thing, mind you,” she said in a hushed voice. “Or would you like to wear polyester suits?”

He chuckled at that. “Well, they look better than robes, at least.”

When she didn’t immediately reply, he glanced at her again. She looked pensive. “It would be a change to wear robes again.”

“Did you have to wear robes?”

“At Hogwarts, yes. It’s the school uniform. And the unofficial Ministry uniform. Even Mr Weasley wore robes to work, and he loved muggle fashion.”

“Like a suit and tie.”

“Yes.”

He chuckled again. That did sound like Dad, just with different interests. He passed a slower car - with an older driver, as he saw when he overtook it - then returned to the left lane again. “It sounds weird,” he commented.

But she didn’t answer. When he glanced at her again, he noticed that she had fallen asleep.

He kept glancing at her for the next two hours, until it was Harry’s turn to drive.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 27th, 2005**

“So that’s the Black Lake. I thought it would be bigger,” Sirius said as they drove along its shore. “What with a giant squid and a village of merpeople located in its counterpart.”

“The giant squid isn’t actually that big,” Hermione told him. “Nothing like in the movies you’ve probably seen.”

“Also, no talk of magic once we’ve arrived,” Harry cut in.

“We could do a double bluff,” Sirius replied. “Make them think we’re using magic as a code for technology.”

“That won’t work,” Ron said, suppressing a yawn. He hadn’t slept well in the van. And not for long enough, either. At least he had been able to get rid of his wig and beard once they had entered the Highlands. “Dumbledore and Grindelwald are too smart for that. You would probably make them think about magic in the first place. They already know that alternate dimensions exist; assuming that magic exists wouldn’t be a big step.”

“Or psionics, which is totally different from magic,” Ginny added. Sitting behind her - Harry was driving, so naturally Ginny had commandeered the passenger seat - Ron couldn’t see her face, but he knew she was smirking. 

“Psionics?” Hermione asked. “Is that from Dr Who?”

“It’s a sort of not-magic magic in Dungeons and Dragons,” Luna explained.

“Yes. Ron was very insistent that it wasn’t magic,” Ginny said.

Ron frowned. “I should never have let you play D&D with us when we were kids.”

“Mum would have made you play with me,” Ginny retorted.

“And it was fun,” Luna said. “Even though the monsters were very unrealistic.”

Hermione snorted at that.

“It’s true,” Luna told her. “Most wouldn’t have been able to sustain themselves where we found them in the game. Some wouldn’t have been able to enter their own lair.”

“That was a mistake,” Ron defended his eleven-year-old self. “And it only happened once.”

“Anyway,” Harry cut in again, “no talk of magic once we arrive. And assume we’re always under surveillance inside the building, or near it. The only time we can talk freely is when we’re taking a run along a random route around the lake.”

“I’m having flashbacks to Sandhurst,” Sirius groaned. “Tell me we’re not doing the morning run routine.”

“We’re doing the morning and evening run routine,” Harry told him. “You were the one who insisted on coming along.”

“Ginny did as well!”

“I’m not the one complaining about a little running.” Ginny chuckled. “In fact, I’m glad that I will be able to keep in shape. Somewhat, at least.”

Ron rolled his eyes behind her back. Yes, everyone knew who was the fittest among them. He changed the subject. “Also, be on your best behaviour. We didn’t announce your arrival.”

“They’ll have anticipated it,” Harry said, “after hearing about the attack in London. And Ginny’s statement about having to recover from yesterday’s attack, and not wanting to deal with anyone outside her family, should have been released to the press by now.”

“They’ll still try to force a concession out of us,” Ron retorted.

“That’s their capitalist nature,” Luna agreed. “They can’t let any opportunity to amass more wealth and influence go by.”

“Well, they’ll be disappointed,” Hermione declared. “They need me, and I don’t see how housing six instead of four could be a significant drain on their resources.” 

“Oh, but we have expensive tastes,” Sirius said. “Ginny is a celebrity, and I’m used to a style of living befitting my station.”

“I’m certain that they can afford a daily order of fish and chips and pizza,” Harry replied in a dry tone.

“Don’t forget the curry!” Sirius told him, chuckling. “More seriously, I don’t think they’ll object. The more people who know about this who are here, the fewer they have to hunt down should they decide to stab us in the back.”

Now that was a sobering thought.

*****

Filch was already waiting for them in the underground garage, standing at parade rest with two guards at his back and a scowl on his face like a drill sergeant in a movie. A show of force.

Ron was the first out of the van. Standard procedure. “Mr Filch.” He nodded at the man. “You should be aware that we’ve brought two friends with us after we were attacked in London. I trust quarters have been prepared for them.”

Filch’s scowl deepened. Probably at some petty ploy being foiled, Ron thought. “I heard.”

“Good.” Ron looked around, not bothering to be subtle about it as he checked the garage before he nodded at the van. “Clear.”

“Of course it’s clear,” Filch spat, adding something under his breath that Ron didn’t catch.

“Trust but verify,” Ron replied with a grin.

“Constant vigilance,” Harry added.

Ron saw Hermione roll her eyes as she stepped forward. “Ginny Weasley, Sirius Black - Mr Filch. Head of security of this facility.”

“Charmed, I’m certain,” Sirius said with a wide grin. “Lovely resort you have here. More than meets the eye, right? Good discipline among the staff, too. I like that. Don’t see that as often as one should, these days.” He nodded with a condescending expression. “Don’t bother taking our luggage; we’re travelling light.”

Filch gritted his teeth as he stepped to the side, letting them go past and into the lift.

“Was that necessary?” Harry asked as soon as the doors closed. His tone left no doubt that it was a rhetorical question.

“Yes,” Sirius answered anyway. “I know his sort; he needed a reminder that he’s the help.”

“I don’t think this was the right time to play officer,” Harry replied.

“On the contrary! I know a former soldier when I see one.” Sirius grinned. “He was probably drummed out of the service.”

And probably had a chip on his shoulder about officers, especially the upper-class ones. Ron shook his head. Between Hermione’s demanding nature when working and Sirius’s attitude, the facility’s staff wouldn’t warm up to their group any time soon.

Well, that would make it easier to remain on their guard.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 28th, 2005**

What goes around comes around, Ron thought as he struggled to keep pace with Ginny on their first morning run. His little sister had found a way to push herself without running Hermione, Luna and Sirius into the ground - she was literally running circles around those three as their group ran along the shore. As were Ron and Harry, of course.

It was just a little more difficult than Ron liked. Ginny had always been athletic, and since she was only one year younger than him, she’d been his near-equal, physically - until he had entered puberty. He still remembered the tantrum she had thrown the first time he had easily bested her in arm wrestling after a few months at school.

And, judging by the nasty grin his sister was sporting as she glanced over her shoulder before stepping up her own pace, so did she. Well, he hadn’t let her forget it for quite a while, back then.

At least he wasn’t suffering alone.

He still had to struggle not to let himself fall to the ground at their first break while Ginny kept bouncing on her feet. “Any bugs?” he asked.

Harry shook his head. “None that I can detect with this,” he answered, holding up his scanner.

“Is that really necessary?” Sirius asked from the ground. “They couldn’t have bugged the entire area, could they?”

“You never know,” Ron told him. “All it takes is getting sloppy once.”

“Moody,” Hermione mumbled.

“Yes,” Ron said. “Words to live by.”

She snorted. As did Ginny. At least Ron’s sister wasn’t rubbing in her athletic superiority.

“You’d never make it on the tour. And I’m talking about the WTA Tour.”

Not overly much, at least.

“Not everyone can be a professional athlete,” Hermione retorted. “Some of us have other strengths.”

Ron smirked as Ginny frowned. His little sister didn’t like insinuations - imagined or not - that she was all brawn and no brains.

“And united, we’re much more than our individual strengths!” Luna spoke up.

“As long as we work on our weaknesses,” Ginny replied.

“I can’t teach anyone physics,” Hermione said. “I’m busy doing research. And for magic, you need an inborn talent.”

Ron snorted. Perhaps the insinuation hadn’t been imagined. Hermione did strike him as rather competitive. Even in areas where she wasn’t particularly gifted.

“Physics won’t help you defend yourself.”

But so was Ginny.

“Only if you lack the imagination to apply your knowledge.”

There were entirely too many teeth being bared around here, in Ron’s opinion. He cleared his throat. “Unless anyone has anything important to report, Hermione and I will need to go over the cover story again.”

They had another dinner with Dumbledore, and possibly Grindelwald, this evening, after all.

*****

“Fascinating. So a massively stratified society emerged as a result of a much more intense arms race during the Cold War?” Dumbledore asked as he finished his dessert - chocolate cake with ice cream and whipped cream. A delight, Ron had to admit - Dumbledore obviously loved sweets, and his staff knew it.

“I didn’t study history or sociology,” Hermione replied. “I can only tell you how things are. And possible reasons why my world is more advanced, technologically, than this one. In my world, the military spent huge sums on research since to fall behind would have meant defeat. No matter the cost to society.”

“Like Pakistan’s efforts to develop nuclear weapons. Or North Korea’s.” Dumbledore nodded. “Ironically, while the quote of ‘being ready to eat grass to get the bomb’ is attributed to the former, it’s the latter’s population who is currently suffering that fate, as far as we can tell.” 

“I think those are good examples,” Hermione replied. “How far would either country have come, had they not wasted so much money on weapons development? And in both countries, the ruling class lives extremely well.”

“As long as they’re not being assassinated or executed,” Harry pointed out.

“Quite.” Dumbledore nodded. “However, neither country might have had a choice - their neighbours might have exploited any weakness.”

“I’m no expert on politics,” Hermione told him. “I focused on physics.”

“A fortunate choice. However, given such a huge gap between our technology levels, what kind of weapons did your world develop?”

Ron tensed. They had expected that question - Phoenix Gruppe was an arms producer, after all. At least Grindelwald wasn’t present.

“Most of the advanced weapons weren’t revealed to the public, but kept secret,” Hermione said. “Presumably so the enemy wouldn’t be able to develop countermeasures or copy them. However, there were the civilian derivatives - primarily medical advancements - and there were rumours that simply couldn’t be quashed. I wasn’t privy to classified research in my field, but I know there was research on personal transporters and a sort of force field.”

“Really? Teleportation, as seen in some science fiction series?” Dumbledore rubbed his beard, obviously interested. “Such devices would revolutionise warfare - and, of course, intelligence.”

“They’d also revolutionise our lives,” Luna pointed out.

“Something to be kept in mind when discussing trade.” The old man nodded as if he cared more about raising the standard of living than lining his pockets.

“Hermione’s world might not be willing to part with their advanced technology,” Ron said. “If it becomes wide-spread in our world, the lower classes in Hermione’s world might demand it for themselves.”

“If they haven’t done so already, I doubt they’ll start any time soon,” Dumbledore retorted. “Your world’s major societies seem remarkably stable, Dr Granger.”

“From what we could tell, there were special units who dealt with incidents that might upset the population,” Hermione said. “I don’t think that the majority of such incidents ever made it into the media.”

“That would require tight control over all media and news services.”

She snorted. “The most popular newspaper in Britain answered to the government. And its biggest competition was a magazine widely regarded as satirical in nature, with a delusional editor-in-chief. And the less said about the wireless media, the better.”

“And yet, you decided to fight for this society?” Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

“The alternative was far, far worse. No social mobility at all. A person’s worth entirely defined by their birth.”

“And the best and brightest of the lower classes eliminated instead of elevated.” Dumbledore nodded. “Such a policy tends to lead to large-scale violence as revolutionary sentiments grow.”

“Yes,” Hermione replied. “I would assume that would happen.”

Ron suppressed a wince. They had covered the possible questions, and what to reveal, but this was entering an area they hadn’t - couldn’t have - covered in depth. Alternate history, of sorts, for a fictional universe.

“Provided, of course, advanced technology cannot be used to stop such developments,” the old man went on. “But even so, without an enemy threatening to destroy you, I don’t think your society can be maintained indefinitely.”

“Reforms can be achieved peacefully, though, as this world’s history shows,” Hermione said. “Even if that didn’t happen in my world’s USSR and China.”

“But our circumstances were different.”

“Yet people are people, always yearning for freedom. You cannot suppress everyone forever - sooner or later, any system will be broken!” Luna chimed in.

“You’ll find, my dear, that the devil is, as always, in the details - or, in this case, in the definition of ‘sooner’ and ‘later’,” Dumbledore told her. “But I think we’ve monopolised the discussion for too long.”

“Oh, don’t stop on our account,” Sirius said. “It was fascinating.”

Dumbledore’s smile didn’t slip at all, despite Sirius’s obvious sarcasm. “If you insist.” He turned to Hermione again. “Were there any smaller wars, such as the invasion of the Falklands? Or low-level conflicts like the Troubles?”

“You mean like a war that wouldn’t have happened at all at all if there hadn’t been a complete intelligence failure with regards to the Argies’ preparations?” 

Sirius glared at the old man, but Ron didn’t really pay attention. Hermione seemed distracted. Which usually meant she was focused on her past.

*****

_“Run! Run!”_

_As she turned the corner, moments before a crossbow bolt hit it, exploding as if it were a grenade - enchanted bolts? In goblin hands? - she tried to apparate. It didn’t work, of course - as she knew it wouldn’t. But old reflexes were hard to change._

_In front of her, Harry turned, wand raised. A moment later, his spell blew up the tunnel behind her, shards of stone pelting her Shield Charm._

_“This way!” Ron yelled, waving at her from a side tunnel._

_It wasn’t on the map they had acquired - but the map had been wrong, anyway. Faulty information. And they had no choice. If they stuck to the bigger tunnels, the goblins would run them down._

_She followed Ron, Harry bringing up the rear. They were on… well, the vault level. And the goblins would be blockading the stairs. That left the air shafts - if they could find one. Provided they did actually exist, of course - other than Sally Selwyn’s report, no document mentioned air shafts in Gringotts._

_They had to exist, though - goblins wouldn’t want to depend solely on Air-Refreshing Charms. Not when they didn’t have wands._

_They had to exist._

_She glanced at the bag Harry was carrying. They couldn’t die at the hands of the goblin guards. Not when they had found another Horcrux._

_Not when they were closer than ever to finally defeating Voldemort._

_“Bloody hell!”_

_That was Ron! She pushed on, turning the corner - and stopped next to Ron._

_And stared at the huge dragon in front of them. Even chained as it was, they couldn’t get past the beast. And the goblins were coming. This was… this was..._

_“Bloody hell.” Harry had reached them._

_“We need to go back,” she told him._

_“The goblins are too close,” he replied, looking around. “No time. Get your brooms._ _And then destroy those chains!”_

*****


	15. The Albanian Connection

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 28th, 2005**

Hermione shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said, standing up. “That brought up memories of my own little war. I think I’ll retire for the evening.”

“Oh, dear me, I wasn’t thinking!” Dumbledore looked appalled at his thoughtlessness. “Please accept my apology for bringing up bad memories.”

“Apology accepted.”

Ron didn’t know which of them was lying more right now. But he knew what he had to do. He stood, nodding at the others, then followed Hermione.

The spymaster wasn’t the sort of man to make such a mistake. So his comment had to have been deliberate. But had he merely wanted to find out what would make Hermione crack or had this been an attempt at getting a specific reaction out of her? Probably both, given the man’s past.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at him as he caught up to her. “That was rather thoughtless of Mr Dumbledore,” he said, walking at her side.

“Yes, indeed,” she replied. Her tone told him that she didn’t believe it had been a mistake, either. “Perhaps he was distracted by Mr Black and Ginny’s presence.”

A punishment for bringing more people with them? No. Ron shook his head. “I don’t think so. He was probably simply lost in your tales.”

She frowned at him, then shook her head in turn. “He isn’t getting any younger.”

Ron shrugged. He didn’t think that this was an attempt by Dumbledore to pressure her into working faster. The old man would know such research couldn’t really be rushed. Although he would have to feel his age constantly - especially after hearing about the latest attack on Hermione. He sighed. He couldn’t get a handle on Dumbledore.

Hermione flashed him a rueful smile. “He’s quite the enigma, isn’t he?”

So she was none the wiser, either. Ron nodded as they entered the lift.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 29th, 2005**

Had Hermione had another nightmare? Ron couldn’t tell. She didn’t look well-rested as she prepared for their morning run, but none of them did. Even Ginny looked a little tired, but that was probably due to her sharing a room with Harry.

Of course, if Ron’s dream had been real, he’d look even worse. And so would… he buried the thought. He couldn’t really compete with a magical Ron. A Ron who had practically grown up with her. But it didn’t seem that his subconscious understood that.

She was pretty, but certainly not a supermodel. She was also fairly fit, though she didn’t have the curves of a lingerie model. And her hair was usually a mess, barely tamed by the double-strength scrunchies that kept it in a ponytail. She hardly wore makeup - and with Ginny now around, that was even more apparent.

But she had something…

He grit his teeth and focused on stretching and warming up, instead of on her doing the same.

A few minutes later, they were running. So close to the building, there weren’t many different routes, so they had to assume the area was bugged, and thus couldn’t talk. But Ron didn’t mind the silence. Nor the cool morning air. Nor even Ginny pulling ahead again. Though he grinned when she had to backtrack because Harry decided to pick a new route. Teach her to try and do the work of professionals.

A few minutes later, she, Harry and Ron were circling the other three again. It was quite the challenge, actually. Since they were inside the forest, the only paths were trails - and animals didn’t walk two or three abreast.

About ten minutes in, Harry called for a break. Hermione had held up a little better, or so it seemed. Or perhaps she had pushed herself a little more with Ginny present. Without planning to, Ron found himself using the same tree as she did to stretch.

She glanced at him, frowning slightly. “Am I doing it wrong again?”

He had been staring! He shook his head. “No, no.” He nodded towards her backpack, which contained her beaded bag of holding. “I was just wondering if Dumbledore might suspect that we’re hiding weapons somehow, since we didn’t take any SMGs or rifles into our rooms.”

She pursed her lips. “Didn’t we leave two rifles in the car?”

“Yes, we did. But wouldn’t he have expected us to do that as a distraction?” Ron tilted his head as he changed positions and started to stretch his arms.

“I think you might be overthinking this,” she replied.

“Maybe.” He pressed his lips together for a moment. “But we can’t underestimate him.”

“Our interests align,” she said. “He won’t do anything to sabotage my research, and he must have realised that harming my friends would negatively affect my work.”

Friends. He liked hearing that. But… “He might prefer more control over you. Which he would achieve if you were isolated.”

She scowled. “Then he doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does.”

She was right, of course - but that wouldn’t help anyone if Dumbledore were wrong.

Ron really hated these spy mind games.

*****

Ginny approached Ron at the second break. She was trying to be subtle about it, doing stretching exercises as she came closer, but, well... she hadn’t been trained in tailing people and spotting tails. So he made a point of looking at her right before she was about to speak and enjoyed seeing her pout.

Only for a moment, of course, then she ploughed on and smiled at him, though she showed a bit too many teeth for it to be called sweet. “So… what’s between you and Hermione?”

He managed to keep from spitting ‘none of your business’ at her. “It’s ‘Hermione’ now, is it?”

She shrugged. “It would have been weird if I called her ‘Dr Granger’ while Luna called her ‘Hermione’.”

So simple, he thought with some envy.

“But don’t change the subject,” she went on, frowning at him once more. “What’s up with you and her?”

“Nothing.” He glanced over his shoulder. Luna was talking to Hermione at the other end of the small clearing. So this had been planned.

She actually rolled her eyes at his answer. “Sure. That’s why you follow her around like a puppy.”

What? “I’m her bodyguard.”

“So’s Harry, and he doesn’t do that.”

He was about to tell her that they had split the tasks but sighed instead. For all the years since they had moved out from their parents’ home, she still knew him too well. “It’s complicated.”

“Really?” She changed her stance and did some squats. Show-off. “Because she was in a relationship with your counterpart?”

“She told you that?” he blurted out, then drew a sharp breath and checked over his shoulder again.

“She didn’t have to. Just looking at her as she told us about her best friends was enough. Who, I’ll have you know, also included my counterpart.”

He shook his head. That was so like Ginny - she’d always hated being left out of whatever her brothers did, no matter how young she had been. Well, so had Ron, actually. He shrugged. “As I said, it’s complicated.” He couldn’t compete with a better version of himself, could he?

She scoffed. “She’s been here for seven years. If she hasn’t moved on, he surely will have.”

“You don’t know him.”

“I know you,” she replied with a smirk.

“Hey!” He glared at her. “I’m not him.”

“Well, close enough, from what I can tell.”

What? He blinked.

She sighed. “I asked Hermione about your counterpart. She told me about him.”

“Me too. And we’re very different.”

“Not really. You’re into sci-fi and fantasy, he’s a fan of a wizard sport. And he can do magic.”

“Yes.” Huge differences.

“So, practically the same.” She grinned.

“Even if that were true” - and it wasn’t - “that doesn’t mean you’re right.”

“So, you’re _not_ attracted to her?”

“She’s pining for her Ron.”

“We’ll see about that.”

She pushed off the tree before he could react, and then she was too far away for him to call out to her without Hermione overhearing everything.

Damn. He had known letting Ginny come with them would cause trouble.

*****

Two hours later, Ron was guarding Hermione. Or rather, watching her work at her desk. Unfortunately, he couldn’t keep staring at her. And she wasn’t even running any experiments at the moment - she was just doing calculations and taking notes. He could really use a good book right now. Or a portable DVD player and a few movies. Bodyguarding someone in an isolated, secure room was boring. Very boring.

He sighed.

“You don’t have to be here, you know.”

He looked at her. “I actually have to. Regulations.”

“What?”

He chuckled to show he had been joking and saw her purse her lips, then smile. “Seriously, I’m safe here. You personally checked all possible avenues of entry, didn’t you?”

She was quoting him. He shrugged. “You can never be sure. And it doesn’t really matter whether I’m waiting here or in my room.” He sighed again. “If only we hadn’t been attacked until after our visit to the bookshop.”

She laughed at that. “I’d prefer it if we hadn’t been attacked at all. The news is going crazy.” She shook her head. “I think I’ve been kidnapped by every terrorist group in existence, according to the tabloids.”

He nodded. At least they got the latest newspapers - although usually at noon. “The excitement should die down once news of us having gone to ground again spreads.”

“No more kidnapping rumours would be nice. Not as nice as stopping whoever is behind this, though.”

He shrugged. “Everyone’s working on that. Sooner or later, there should be results.”

She didn’t look as if she expected anything.

If Ron was honest, neither did he.

*****

“The quality of the food alone would be sufficient reason to stay here,” Sirius announced as he finished the main course in the lounge of their quarters. “Say what you want about Mr Dumbledore, but he knows how to pick his cooks.”

Harry snorted. “Says the man who could live on takeaway food for months. Did so, in fact.”

“And that’s exactly why I can appreciate a good meal,” the older man shot back. “Or an excellent meal, like this one.” He raised his fork, with which he had speared the last piece of his veal cordon bleu.

Ron slightly shook his head at Sirius’s antics. At least, Ginny and, of course, Luna, seemed amused. And, as he saw with a glance, even Hermione was smiling. Although that would change as soon as Sirius mentioned his plans for flying tanks. Plural.

Ron still couldn’t tell how serious Sirius actually was - Harry’s godfather joked a lot about practically everything. Well, it wasn’t important right now. There were more interesting things to ponder.

Such as the question of why Hermione had changed into a dress for dinner, even though they were just eating in their quarters. Usually, she’d simply drop off her lab coat before joining them. Today, though, she had spent an hour with Ginny and Luna in her room. Had his sister persuaded her to dress up? And how? Ginny was stubborn, but Hermione had her beat in that area. Perhaps Luna and Ginny had teamed up on her…

His musings were interrupted when the door opened, and two staff members entered with dessert - followed by Dumbledore.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Would you mind me joining you for dessert?” He raised a slim folder. “I bring important news.”

“Not at all, please have a seat,” Harry said. 

Ron nodded. Important news? That sounded intriguing, especially coming from the old man. Not to mention that telling your host that you did mind would have been rude and stupid, anyway.

“Important news?” Luna beamed at Dumbledore. Of course she would, what with getting dessert and possibly secret information at the same time.

“Indeed. MI5 has identified most of the men you killed in the line of duty,” Dumbledore announced as he opened the folder and spread files out on the table while dessert was being served.

Ron ignored the slight sting he felt at hearing that MI5 had done this, not CI5. Besides, the documents looked like MI5 files, which Dumbledore couldn’t have gotten legally. He skimmed them. “Quite the variety,” he commented. “Americans, Russians, French, a German…”

“Oh, yes.” Dumbledore smiled. “Someone took care to muddy the waters, so to speak. The police would have some difficulty pinpointing the origin of this operation.” He shook his head. “However, they didn’t anticipate my own resources.”

Ron wondered, privately, if Dumbledore was talking about his employees - or about MI6. Out loud, he asked: “What did you find out?”

“We’ve identified one of the men killed in the most recent attack as Avni Berisha - the younger cousin of Burim Berisha, who controls most of the drug and other contraband routes through Kosovo.” Dumbledore looked at Hermione and handed her a picture.

She shook her head, answering his unspoken question. “I’ve never seen or heard of that person.”

“Why would a drug lord want to kidnap Hermione?” Ron asked. Of course, her beaded bag of holding would make smuggling easy - but it wasn’t worth angering the United Kingdom over. The SAS might not, any more, pull off the kind of operations they did during the Troubles - if you trusted certain rumours - but murdering police officers and trying to turn London into a war zone could very well merit the kind of visit that rendered both extradition treaties and trials obsolete.

“I don’t think that he is behind this,” Dumbledore replied as he started on a bowl of chocolate pudding, “although I could be mistaken. However, I think it’s more likely that someone used him to hire deniable assets.”

“Mercenaries,” Harry said. “Thugs.”

“Scum,” Sirius added with a sneer.

“I wouldn’t argue that those particular men were upstanding representatives of their craft,” Dumbledore told them with his usual smile. “But in my opinion, the key question isn’t the hired help’s moral fibre or lack thereof, but whether or not Berisha was aware that his cousin was deemed expendable. Blood feuds have been started for less.”

“You think that he’ll sell out his contact,” Ron said.

The old man inclined his head. “I think that isn’t too far-fetched. Alternatively - if he wasn’t involved in the hiring - he might provide us with information that will lead us to Dr Granger’s mysterious enemy.”

“You want us to find out,” Harry stated.

“Actually, since blood feuds are a local tradition in the area, I don’t think the same people who actually killed his cousin should meet with Berisha,” Dumbledore replied. “Although in light of the truth behind Dr Granger’s work, I cannot trust my usual assets to stay loyal if given such a mission.”

So he was afraid that an ex-spy might suddenly decide to inform their old employer, instead of a private businessman. And that those in his employ without any loyalty to a country might sell out to the highest bidder. 

“You have proved to be quite adept at disguising yourself, though,” Dumbledore went on.

“And we already know the truth about Hermione’s research,” Ron pointed out. “Unlike most of your employees and assets.”

“Quite,” Dumbledore confirmed with a thin smile. “Even the fact that we’re involved in Dr Granger’s affairs is being kept secret from everyone, save for a select few of my men.”

The Phoenix Gruppe’s spies and other ‘assets’ would draw their own conclusions from that information, Ron knew. And some might reevaluate their loyalties.

“So you need us to get the information so it’s kept as compartmentalised as possible,” Harry said. He looked at Ron. “I think we should do it.”

And they would finally be able to do something about the attacks instead of waiting for the next attempt to kidnap Hermione. “Yes,” Ron agreed.

Then Hermione spoke up: “I’m coming with you.”

“No, you aren’t!” Ron blurted out. “This is police work,” he added, meeting her eyes as she glared at him.

“No, it’s not,” she retorted. “It’s an intelligence-gathering mission. You’re not going to arrest anyone, and you won’t be concerned about evidence or rights.”

“It’s an investigation,” he told her. “We’re talking to informants.”

“Informants who will try to kill you if they recognise you.”

“An undercover mission, then,” he replied.

“You’re going after a drug lord in his home base. You need me.” She was still glaring at him.

“It’s too dangerous for you.” She wasn’t a police officer or a secret agent.

“The same could be said about you,” she shot back.

“But I’m not the only one who can open a portal to another dimension,” he pointed out. Chasing criminals and following leads, though? That was something he could do. And he really needed to do something after being attacked so often.

“So?” She raised her head, pushing her chin out, and huffed. “If it’s not safe enough for me, it’s not safe enough for you.” She shook her head. “You need me, just in case you get shot again, or your disguise fails.”

His jaw clenched. He didn’t like the reminder of his close brush with death. He didn’t want to remember how he had felt, falling. Bleeding. Dying.

Dumbledore finally stepped in. “Joining such a mission would also delay your research.”

“A necessary sacrifice,” she told the old man. “And it’s not as if we’d be away for weeks. Not that my work wouldn’t be affected if I had to worry about them while they’re away. Given that I’ll need at least several more weeks to complete my research, even if everything goes perfectly, any delay would be of minimal consequence.”

“Your presence might distract Mr Weasley and Mr Potter,” Dumbledore pointed out. He nodded at Ron. “Further, you and Mr Potter are professional investigators.”

And Hermione wasn’t. Ron nodded.

“I think we’ll be safer with her nearby,” Harry said.

What? Ron glared at his friend. Safer? They would have to protect her! Without her wand, she was too vulnerable, and most of her experience on such missions would be useless. Hell, they might as well ask Dumbledore for… Ah. Of course. With Hermione present, Dumbledore wouldn’t double-cross them and arrange a leak or accident. And magic could literally save lives in a pinch. Not to mention the other options Hermione’s potions offered. Still… Ron pressed his lips together. “In that case, we’ll need help.”

Hermione looked torn between anger and triumph at that. Before she could say anything, Sirius spoke up: “I’m coming with you as well, then.”

“No, you aren’t,” Harry told him at once. “Someone has to stay with Ginny and Luna.”

“We’re coming as well!” Luna said.

“No.” Even Hermione was shaking her head.

“If it’s safe enough for you, it’s safe enough for us!” Ginny insisted.

“You’ll need a computer expert. Even drug lords are going digital these days!” Luna nodded several times.

Ron glanced at Harry. He expected his friend to tell Ginny not to be an idiot, but Harry wasn’t saying anything. Did he really think Ginny would be safer with them than staying here?

“The more numerous we are, the more likely someone is to see through our disguises,” Hermione said.

“That’s nothing money can’t solve,” Sirius declared. “Besides, whoever you’re sending as support for us will have to deal with the same issues,” he told Dumbledore.

“Undoubtedly. But, leaving aside my concerns about using them, my assets are not only trained for such missions but also used to working together,” Dumbledore replied.

“And we’re not,” Ron agreed.

“We’ve worked together before,” Hermione told him.

“And if we aren’t present we can’t help you even though you might need our help,” Luna said. 

“I can protect the girls so you won’t have to worry about them,” Sirius added.

Ron saw Hermione frown - probably at getting called a ‘girl’. But Sirius was correct - he could keep them safe. And Luna’s skills with computers could be useful as well. Ginny, though…

“I’m not staying here by myself while everyone else goes off!” his sister declared as if she had read his thoughts. 

“I’m not joining them, either,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “Although I fear I’d be poor company for a young woman.”

Did the old man want all of them to go on this trip? Even if it meant Hermione would take a break from her research? What was his angle? Was this just a ploy to make them trust him? A demonstration that he wouldn’t take them hostage?

Ron didn’t know. But he knew that Ginny wouldn’t accept being left behind, no matter how much sense it made. That was Mum and Dad’s fault, for making Ron and his brothers include her all the time when she was a little girl.

And he knew that Harry wouldn’t be able to make her stay behind either. If Ron’s friend even wanted to. Ginny might be safer with them, anyway. A medical emergency that required Hermione’s ‘limited resources’ to save Ginny would be an easy way to split them up, after all.

Damn. Mum would kill him for this.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, July 31st, 2005**

As far as birthday parties went, this wasn’t the weirdest Ron had ever attended. That slightly dubious honour still belonged to Luna’s sixteenth birthday. Closely followed by her seventeenth and eighteenth. 

But it was certainly not one of the best, either. The food was excellent, as expected, the cake nearly as good as one of Mum’s, but the fact that tomorrow they’d be flying to the Balkans to meet a warlord threw a damper on the mood. As did the fact that, since the facility’s staff had set up this picnic, the location was probably bugged.

At least Harry and Ginny had sorted things out between them - they were feeding each other the last slices of cake right now, the picture of a loving couple.

He took another swallow from his beer. He wasn’t envious. Not really. He shook his head and watched Luna play with the RC helicopter. The thing was hovering above the lake, slowly descending. And Sirius was, apparently, giving her advice based upon his experiences in the army. Which, Ron knew, didn’t include piloting.

“If she sinks it I’m not going to be the one to recover it,” Hermione commented, taking a seat next to him.

“Oh?”

“Did I ever tell you how my Ron and I spent an hour in the depths of that lake, waiting to be rescued?”

“What?”

“It was for a school tournament.”

He blinked. “A school tournament?”

“Yes. One that had been previously discontinued due to its dangers. Anyway, I was unconscious, but…” She shuddered. “I’d rather not dive down there if I can help it.”

“Ah.” He almost reached over to pat her shoulder. Or thigh. “I can understand that.”

“Are you still angry about us coming with you?” she asked after a moment.

He sipped from his glass before answering. “No.”

“Really?”

“I’m not angry.”

“But you would prefer it if we stayed here.”

Of course he would. They didn’t have the training for this. Harry had taken Ginny to a shooting range a few times in the past, but that didn’t mean she was trained for combat. And Luna and Hermione barely knew more than how to safely handle a gun. “I wish we had a range here.”

“A shooting range?”

“Yes.”

“For you or for us?” she asked.

He glanced at her; she was staring at the ruins above the facility. “Both. More training never hurts.”

“You never had an accident during training?” she asked with a teasing smile.

“You know what I mean,” he protested. But he was grinning.

She nodded. “I know. But we could spend weeks on the range and you’d still think it wouldn’t be enough.”

“Of course it wouldn’t be enough!”

She laughed, and, after a moment, he joined her.

*****

**Tirana International Airport, Albania, August 1st, 2005**

If Ron hadn’t already been aware of how far the influence of the Phoenix Gruppe reached, their arrival in Albania would have made him realise it. They had taken a private jet - rented under a cover name, as far as he was aware - from Scotland to the capital of Albania and seen no custom checks in either location. The plane had taxied straight into a hangar, where two SUVs and two shady-looking men were waiting. No, not SUVs. Proper all-terrain vehicles. Land Rover Defenders, old - or at least old-looking.

He was first out of the plane, looking around before nodding to the men. And resisting the urge to scratch his face, which itched slightly due to his fake beard. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

“Morning,” one of them - the one with a moustache - replied. He was wearing a heavier jacket than was appropriate for the temperature, and it was bulging slightly. Oversized handgun or small SMG in a shoulder holster, Ron guessed. The other wore a vest that reached the top of his thighs. No bulges under the shoulders, so probably a holster in the small of his back.

Ron himself was wearing slacks and a polo shirt, with his pistol hidden in his backpack. He couldn’t spot anyone else inside the hangar, so it looked safe.

“Oh, nice!” he heard Luna exclaim behind him. “Snatch Land Rovers!” Before he could say anything, she pushed past him, making a beeline for the closest vehicle. The two mercenaries looked surprised as well, and she slipped by them to crouch down in front of the car. “Nice! The upgraded ones! Although they won’t help against explosives, we should be safe from small arms.”

“The vehicles received additional protections, Miss,” Mr Moustache told her. “They should be proof against heavier weapons as well.”

“Really?” Luna frowned. “That wasn’t just the usual lie to get a government contract?” She shook her head. “Well, we’ll see. I hope we won’t, but we’ve been having a sort of streak lately, you know.” Without waiting for an answer that wouldn’t come anyway, she crawled under the car, pulling out a small Maglite.

Ron clenched his teeth at the sight of Luna ruining her dress. He had told her that she didn’t have to prove herself useful, hadn’t he?

“Ah, those bring back memories! Not good memories, mind you,” Sirius announced as he stepped out of the plane. “I still say we should have gone with a tourist disguise. We could have gotten luxury SUVs!”

“You just wanted a replacement car,” Harry commented as he joined them. “Good morning.” 

“Not just _a_ replacement car but two!” Sirius retorted with a grin. “So, you’re our guides?” he addressed the mercenaries.

“Yes,” Moustache said. “I’m Bajram, and he’s Ad.”

Local names, Ron noted. “Have you been told about our mission?”

“You want to meet with Burim Berisha,” Bajram replied.

“And we want to leave again,” Luna added as she reappeared behind the car. Her dress was covered in dirt, as Ron had expected. “This car looks clean. I’ll do the other one now,” she told them, then headed over to the second Land Rover.

“Ah, finally fresh air!”

Ron glanced over his shoulder and saw that Ginny and Hermione, both wearing black wigs and colourful dresses like Luna, had left the jet. His sister was stretching - for show, Ron assumed; the jet’s accommodations had been comfortable for him, and Ginny was quite a bit smaller than Ron.

Hermione refrained from such a display and looked around as she descended the short set of mobile stairs, one hand in her beaded bag of holding. Ready for trouble.

He pressed his lips together. He still didn’t like bringing the rest of their group with them, but at least Hermione had some idea how to behave in dangerous areas.

“So… four in each car. We’ll have to split up,” Sirius said. “For the trip to the safe house,” he added.

Where they’d split up further, of course. And would finally be able - outside, at least - to talk freely. Harry, Ginny and Sirius took the first car with Bajram while Ron, Luna and Hermione followed Ad to the second.

The car looked newer inside - probably the result of the uparmouring done to the chassis. Ron wondered briefly if Phoenix Gruppe had used their car parts manufacturing subsidiaries for this, then shook his head. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was being able to do this mission safely, and having a pair of armoured Land Rovers went a long way towards achieving that. 

Or would, if Kosovo weren’t riddled with heavier weapons left over from the war against Serbia. Perhaps Sirius had been correct in wanting a tank.

*****

**South of Prizren, Kosovo, August 1st, 2005**

They reached the safe house that Dumbledore’s men had prepared in the southern mountains of Kosovo as the sun was setting. It didn’t look like much from the outside - just another small stone building in the mountains. Barely above a converted stone barn, if that.

But it had an actual barn that hid the Land Rovers, and it was set up in a good defensive position, as Sirius explained as they were getting out of the cars. “Give me a tank, and I’ll block the entire valley from here!” he exclaimed.

“Until someone blows you up,” Harry retorted. “I’m starting to wonder about your apparent fixation on tanks.”

“You’re only just starting to wonder?” Hermione said, shaking her head. “It seems like an obsession.”

Sirius scoffed. “I’m merely practical. A few years ago, a war was fought here. Trust me, the locals will have hidden a lot of weapons in these mountains. Right under NATO’s nose. And Berisha will have had his pick of the hardware.”

“Whatever tank we could get wouldn’t stand up to a modern RPG anyway,” Ron pointed out as he peered through a gap in the door and studied the area.

“I’m certain that our friends could get us a main battle tank,” Sirius shot back.

“And a tanker to keep it fueled?” Harry snorted.

“It looks safe,” Ron announced.

“It is safe,” Bajram said. “We know our business.”

“Trust, but verify,” Ron told the other man with a nod. They certainly had known how to pass a supposedly monitored border without getting stopped, much less searched. Well, that happened when the military was ordered to do police work. “But I don’t like walking to the door in the open.” If there was a sniper, like the one in London...

Ad chuckled. “We’re too far from any good sniping spots.”

“That depends on the sniper,” Ron told him. “And the gun.”

The other man shrugged. “If someone tracked you to this spot, it’s your fault. No one followed us.”

“Let’s go, then,” Ron said, stepping out of the barn and heading towards the door of the house. He tensed, but no one shot him. Or at him.

Harry still kept the rest back until Bajram had opened the door, then everyone hustled over.

The building looked much nicer inside than outside - and bigger, too; Ron could see a hallway leading straight into the mountain slope on which the house had been built. Not a converted barn, but a converted bunker, perhaps. Or an observation post - it did command the valley, after all. 

But whatever it had been, someone had spent quite a large sum to make it liveable by furnishing it. Nothing luxurious, but the furniture was sturdy and well-designed. 

Half an hour later, they had settled into the four rooms at the back of the building and then gathered at the dining table to eat dinner - Harry had thrown together a quick meal of pasta and tomato sauce. Nothing fancy, but certainly better than an MRE.

“So, when’s Berisha expecting us?” Harry asked.

“Tomorrow evening,” Bajram replied. “In his home. His clan controls the entire village, so don’t try anything.”

“We’re just here to talk to him,” Ron told him. “We need some information.” And if Berisha were smart, there wouldn’t be any trouble.

“No one here like snitches,” Bajram said.

“It’s not about anyone local,” Harry explained. “It shouldn’t be a problem.”

Ad snorted, which wasn’t a good sign in Ron’s opinion - the man hadn’t said much at all during the hours long drive up here, but when he had, it had usually been a cynical comment or a joke even Ali G might have found a little too distasteful.

They would have to scout out the place, from afar. And be ready for anything.

*****

Going for a walk at night felt safer. It wasn’t actually safer - quite the contrary. Anyone who might have managed to find them out here would have night vision gear. But if anyone had found them, they would have attacked already, and the cool air at night made a stroll too tempting to pass up after sitting in an un-air-conditioned car for hours during the day.

Somewhat unfortunately, Hermione shared his thoughts on the matter and had opted to take a stroll herself - which meant he had been obligated to escort her. Which, in turn, made the stroll far less relaxing than it could have been. More interesting, though, since they could talk without being overheard by Dumbledore and Grindelwald’s minions. Or by the rest of their group, who had chosen to stay behind. That he had to use a flashlight to see the path was a drawback, though - but it was only a few days until the new moon.

“I should come with you when you go visit Berisha,” she told him.

“That’s too dangerous,” he retorted. And there was the fact that according to all he had heard, Berisha wasn’t exactly a progressive man with regards to women. Quite the opposite, actually.

“Hospitality is held in high esteem here,” she replied.

He scoffed. “Such rules are quickly discarded when it suits people.” You could always find an excuse or pretext to blame the other side for breaking hospitality.

“That’s quite a cynical view,” she said. “Such systems wouldn’t have endured if people hadn’t respected them sufficiently.”

He shrugged and walked a little farther along the worn path. “I wouldn’t bet your life on that.”

“Yet you’d bet your own?”

He turned to face her when he noticed she had stopped walking. “I don’t think he’ll attack us. Not when he can profit from selling us intel. And I don’t doubt that he’s aware who’s backing us.” One of the biggest arms companies in Europe.

“Ah.” She cocked her head. “Do you think Dumbledore would leak news of his involvement?”

“I think his men are a little more obvious than he wants us to think,” Ron replied. “At least to their family.” And Ron would bet that Berisha was distantly related to either Bajram or Ad. 

“Do you think Dumbledore is aware of that?”

He shrugged. Who could figure out that old spymaster?

She chuckled. “This feels familiar. His counterpart was the same. Just a little less obviously manipulative.”

“He was probably better at it,” Ron speculated. “He had more experience, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” She turned her head for a moment. “Voldemort hid in this region for over a decade, or so we believe. I wonder if that’s related. Though this world’s Tom Riddle is dead.”

And he had just reminded her of her traumatic past. He ground his teeth in frustration. “Anyway, you can do more to help us, if things do go wrong, if you’re not in the middle of it.”

“I can’t exactly shoot you with my potions. And my Peruvian Darkness Powder needs to be dropped nearby as well.”

“You could give it to us. I’m certain that I can manage to drop it,” he said with a grin.

“But you don’t know what its limits are.”

“It cloaks the area in magical darkness for a few minutes.” That wasn’t exactly rocket science. “And you can’t heal us if you get shot.”

“I need to be close enough for that,” she pointed out.

He didn’t want her there. Not even near Berisha’s village. And he was pretty sure that she was aware of that. And that she didn’t care for it in the slightest.

Without shining his flashlight at her, possibly blinding her, he couldn’t see her face. He could barely see her limbs in the flashlight’s dimmed glow - it wouldn’t do to announce their presence, after all. But he knew that she would be frowning at him, chin pushed forward, in that stubborn manner of hers.

He smiled against his will. “Let’s go back.”

“Yes.”

*****

**East of Prizren, Kosovo, August 2nd, 2005**

The village had seen better days, Ron thought as they entered it. A number of houses still sported battle damage - probably from the war, but Berisha might have come under attack from some of his enemies in recent years as well. But overall, the village looked like any other village in the mountains.

Which meant most men would be armed and suspicious of strangers. Ad was driving, with Bajram riding shotgun - literally - and Ron and Harry were on the back bench. Even with his pistol and half a dozen spare magazines, Ron felt undergunned.

They stopped in front of a gate in a wall that looked like it had been built by stacking rocks upon each other without mortar, and Ad switched the engine off. “We’ve arrived,” he said as if they didn’t know.

“Remember: Don’t insult him. He won’t, can’t, stand disrespect,” Bajram told them.

“We’ve dealt with his type before,” Harry replied. It wasn’t quite true - they had dealt with gangsters, but not with what amounted to a small-time warlord with a fief of his own. But deep down, crims were crims.

Ron stepped out of the car and rolled his neck as a guard approached, a Kalashnikov slung over his shoulder, and started to talk in Albanian with Bajram.

Some magical way to speak, or at least understand, a foreign language would be very useful right now, Ron thought, but Hermione hadn’t had anything like that on her. Hadn’t mentioned anything that could do that, either.

After about a minute, Bajram turned towards Ron and Harry. “Berisha has agreed to see you, Mr Smith.”

“I thought that had been arranged beforehand,” Harry muttered next to Ron.

“Might have changed his mind,” Ron replied. Or it was just a demonstration of power, as petty as it appeared. Loudly, he said: “Good.”

“You’ll have to surrender your weapons,” Bajram went on. 

“They stay in the car,” Ron replied before he carefully took off his shoulder holster and dropped it on the back bench, followed by Harry. They dropped their knives as well. Not that Berisha’s men couldn’t steal them from the car if they wanted to, but Ron wasn’t about to hand his weapons over to them.

While Ad waited next to the car, the rest of them were led through the gate, then frisked in the garden. Berisha obviously wasn’t taking any chances. And he might even be prepared for suicide bombers, as unlikely as such a threat might seem. Of course, the guards didn’t find anything, nor did they notice the fake beards Harry and Ron were wearing, nor the dyed hair - but their necklaces drew some amusement from them. 

“What are they saying?” Harry asked.

Bajram hesitated a moment, then replied: “They are making comparisons between the necklace and your size.”

Ron ran a finger over the inch-long assault rifle dangling from his necklace and chuckled, which seemed to confuse the guards.

Not for long, though. They made some more comments in Albanian, then one yelled towards the house. Ron didn’t understand what he said, but he saw Bajram tense.

“They called for Berisha,” their guide whispered. “But he doesn’t meet with people in the yard.”

Oh. Their contact deviating from standard procedure wasn’t a good sign. But then the door opened, and three more guards armed with assault rifles stepped out and took up positions next to it before a man in his thirties appeared. Berisha - he hadn’t changed much from the pictures taken during the war. 

Unlike his guards, he wore a suit. An expensive one, too, as far as Ron could tell. 

He nodded at them with a smug expression. “Mr Potter. Mr Weasley. Welcome to my humble home.”

Shit.

*****

_She hated waiting while her friends were risking their lives. Almost as much as she hated being helpless. She wasn’t, of course. But she wasn’t as good at Defence as her friends. Never had been. She wasn’t weak - she was quite good, actually. Compared to most others. But Harry was exceptional at Defence, and Ron wasn’t far behind their friend. And if this meeting turned out to be a trap, the two of them would be able to survive where she might not. And she wasn’t useless - she was the reserve. She was the ace up their sleeve._

_She still hated waiting, though. And worrying. Especially with her friends out in the open while she was protected by Harry’s Cloak of Invisibility. The meeting had been arranged through the Order. It should be safe. But they knew that nothing and no one was safe in this war - they had proved it themselves, several times, by unexpectedly striking at the enemy. And the Death Eaters had far fewer scruples._

_But Diggle had been an Order member in the first war - he was experienced. Dumbledore had trusted his cell to protect Harry and his relatives. If he needed to meet them, it had to be important._

_But where_ was _Diggle?_

_As if he had heard her thoughts, the man appeared. And as soon as she saw him, she knew things had gone wrong. He was hurt. His robes were singed. And he looked confused._

_Harry stunned him at once, then dropped a Portkey on him. A moment later, Diggle, Harry and Ron vanished._

_Hermione, still watching from a distance, activated her own Portkey, dreading what they would learn._

_After all, Diggle’s cell had been tasked with protecting the families of various muggleborns._

*****


	16. The Flight

**East of Prizren, Kosovo, August 2nd, 2005**

Ron’s first thought, stupid as it was, was that he had worn that bloody, itchy beard for nothing. Had Dumbledore sold them out? That didn’t make much sense. The old man had had ample opportunities to get rid of them, and he would know by now that Hermione wouldn’t let that go. So… a leak in his organisation? But the former spymaster didn’t seem like someone who’d slip up on compartmentalisation. Still, someone high enough in Phoenix Gruppe’s black ops department could have done this.

“Mr Berisha.” Harry nodded at the man as if he were completely unperturbed by this turn of events.

Ron copied him. “Good morning. I see our reputation precedes us.” He was quite cool and collected, in his own opinion, for someone facing down five assault rifles.

Berisha laughed. “Indeed. I’ve been expecting you for a while.” He spoke almost perfect English, Ron noted. Not the kind you pick up in a few years at a local school. “It seems you aren’t quite as good at your job as I was told.” 

Their job? Had he expected them to track him down through his cousin? Who would have known that Harry and Ron would have followed this lead in person? Well, most members of CI5, which included Yaxley.

“You sacrificed your cousin to lure us into a trap?” Harry asked. Of course, Ron’s friend had to push the man’s buttons.

Berisha’s smile vanished at once. “No!” he spat. “I didn’t even know that Avni had taken a job that would lead him to Britain.”

“Good job, Harry. Remind him that we killed his cousin,” Ron whispered.

His friend ignored him. “Well, he did, and we’re here. I don’t suppose you’ll tell us who warned you?”

Berisha laughed again. “Very funny, Mr... Potter, I suppose. I was told you were the more obnoxious one.”

That clinched it - someone at CI5 had warned Berisha. Or someone for whom such a mole worked. Or someone with access to that information. On the other hand, Berisha hadn’t denied knowing the name of his informant. Ron grinned. “You get used to him. Eventually. So… you also know why we’re here.”

“I know you’re British police officers. Who’re not supposed to operate outside Britain. That raises some doubts about your intentions towards me.”

“Bajram can vouch for us,” Harry said.

“Bajram will vouch for anyone who pays him.” Berisha sneered at their guide, who glared at him in turn and muttered something in Albanian. 

Ron pressed his lips together. Great - the two had a history. Or Bajram had a shady reputation. Either way, it wasn’t a good thing. “We’re willing to pay for the information we need. And we can pay a lot - Harry’s godfather is rich.” He didn’t want to mention Phoenix Gruppe even though they had numbers and codes if they needed to - Dumbledore knew how to prepare undercover missions in hostile countries.

“Oh, I know. But I think you’ll pay for more than just information - after all, someone’s very interested in you. Someone with deep pockets. I think we’ll have a bidding war.” Berisha grinned. One of his men muttered something in Albanian, and he glared at him before retorting in the same language.

‘Avni’? Did they just mention the name of the dead mercenary?

“The guard is another cousin,” Bajram confirmed Ron’s suspicion with a whisper. “He wants revenge.”

Great. But Berisha was distracted, as were at least two of his guards. If they wanted to get out of this, now was the time. “Take cover,” he whispered.

“What?” Bajram said.

Then Ron snapped his belt buckle, spilling the pinch of Peruvian Darkness Powder concealed within, and everything went black. Ron dived to the side, rolled over his shoulder and grabbed the miniature rifle dangling from his necklace. A sharp tug broke it off, and, a moment later, it returned to its original size in his hands.

Shots rang out as he rolled across the sandy ground and out of the area covered in darkness, his rifle already lined up with the closest guard. He squeezed the trigger and sent a three-round burst into the man, then another into the next guard. “Freeze!” he yelled, aiming at Berisha, who was moving towards the door as Harry dropped the last guard.

But the warlord didn’t listen, and Ron squeezed off another burst that hit him in the leg. Before he could secure Berisha, though, one of the guards who had been behind them charged out of the darkness - who charged ahead in such a situation? - and ran over Ron, stumbling in the process. Ron rolled on to his side and managed to bring the rifle around before the man regained his balance, dropping him with three rounds to the chest.

But Berisha had used the distraction to dive into the house, out of Harry and Ron’s line of fire. 

“Bajram! Get the car!” Harry yelled, moving towards the door.

Ron followed - they needed Berisha. Alive.

But Bajram didn’t answer. Either he had fled, or he had been shot.

Damn.

But they had to get Berisha. And quickly, before he escaped - his house was bound to have an escape route or two.

Harry was at the door, pressed against the wall. “Let’s go!”

Ron hurried forward, then crouched down on the other side of the door. “Going low,” he said.

Then he held his breath and slid around the corner. The room inside was empty, though a chair and a small table had been knocked over. And there were drops of blood on the floor, leading towards the back.

Harry moved ahead again, gun aimed at the hallway. Ron followed, covering the side door.

They reached the kitchen. “Blood trail,” Harry whispered and pointed at the bloodstains near the trapdoor. There was also a back door, but it was locked with a deadbolt from the inside.

Ron nodded at the pantry next to it without saying anything. The trapdoor could be a decoy.

Harry nodded curtly in return and covered the door and trapdoor while Ron went around him, then ripped open the door.

He almost shot the shrieking figure inside the pantry before he realised it was a woman - probably a relative. She was screaming in Albanian but didn’t seem to be armed, and there was no room for anyone else inside. He shut the door in her face. That left the trapdoor. Unless the woman had locked the back door behind Berisha, then hid… No. Too convoluted. The trapdoor, then. He moved towards it and wished they had been able to smuggle in stun grenades as well.

They heard more shots and screams from outside, and Ron hesitated. The villagers were mobilising. The others would need help…

“Stick to the plan,” Harry muttered.

Clenching his teeth, Ron did and opened the trapdoor. 

There was more blood on the wooden stairs leading into the cellar. “Escape tunnel,” he muttered. Berisha wouldn’t flee to the basement otherwise. Too easy to kill him there, even with the village coming to help.

“Yes.”

Harry took point, rushing down the stairs while Ron covered him from above. There wasn’t any lighting, but the flashlights mounted on the rifles provided enough illumination for them.

There were lots of old bottles and crates, and more blood on the floor, and one of the shelves lining the walls - modern ones made of metal; IKEA, Ron thought - had been toppled, revealing a tunnel.

Harry still kicked over those crates that might be hiding someone before approaching the door, staying on one side of it.

“He can’t move fast with the leg wound,” Ron whispered.

Harry nodded. “Ambush.” He took his flashlight off the rifle and adjusted the intensity, then signed ‘High’.

Ron nodded and crouched down, then moved forward to the edge of the tunnel’s entrance. Behind him, Harry moved up until he was close enough to reach the door frame. “3… 2… 1… Go!”

Harry stuck the flashlight around the corner and flicked it on at maximum illumination. Ron heard a grunt as he slid around the corner himself, leading with his rifle. There was Berisha, on the ground, gun - a rifle, which had to have been grabbed during his flight - aimed at the entrance, jerking as he was suddenly blinded. 

The Albanian fired wildly, but the recoil from the automatic fire made his rifle’s muzzle rise, the shots not even coming close to where Ron was crouching - and aiming. It wasn’t ideal, not with Berisha prone on the ground and facing him, but he wouldn’t get a better opportunity. He squeezed off a shot, and Berisha screamed, hit in the shoulder.

Harry dashed into the tunnel at once and Ron flicked the safety on as he rose, following his friend. Berisha had dropped his rifle and was trying to draw his pistol, but Harry kicked it out of his hand before he could line it up, then kicked him in the head for good measure.

No one would complain about this suspect being roughed up a little.

Harry quickly searched and tied up Berisha while Ron checked the man’s wounds. The shoulder wound was a little more serious than he had intended - the exit wound was in the back - but the lung hadn’t been touched, and the bleeding wasn’t too bad. The same went for the leg wound - the bullet had passed cleanly through his calf. Ron didn’t even bother checking for broken fingers but gripped the man’s good shoulder and pulled him up.

They moved back to the cellar as quickly as they could manage in the narrow tunnel while dragging their captive, then Harry went up to secure the kitchen while Ron slung Berisha over his shoulder and followed, straining under the weight of the man on the narrow, creaky stairs.

The pantry door was open, as was the back door - the woman must have fled. And was probably getting more help. Harry locked the door, then they moved back to the living room. Outside, the darkness was already fading. Ron saw Bajram on the ground, in a pool of blood. Poor bastard had caught a full salvo fired blindly into the darkness, or that’s what it looked like.

But the shooting was still going on, even worse than before - all of the village’s men able to carry a weapon had to be up and about by now. At least it seemed that Ad was still alive and keeping them at bay.

But escaping with Berisha would still be a challenge.

Then another sphere of darkness appeared, covering the entire gate. Ron gasped. Hermione would only do that if she saw no other choice! “Watch your fire!” he yelled to Harry. They had to keep track of their bullets anyway - they hadn’t been able to shrink spare magazines. Not without using up more of the irreplaceable solution.

The fire outside the gate intensified, and, a moment later, Hermione crawled out of the black cloud, pressing herself against the wall.

Ron moved towards her, dragging Berisha with him. She didn’t look hurt, but that didn’t mean anything. Shock could do a lot to people. Harry rushed forward with him. Shots hit the ground near them, bullets ricocheting around.

“On the roof!” Harry shouted, then dropped to one knee and fired. Ron, still carrying Berisha, looked up in time to see a man sliding off the roof, leaving a trail of blood before he disappeared behind the wall. 

Where one man went, others would, too. Ron tried to keep his eyes on the other roofs overlooking the yard as he pushed forward. Fortunately, there weren’t many - Berisha must have picked his house carefully. But there were more than enough to make staying inside the yard too dangerous. 

He reached the wall next to Hermione and crouched down next to her, dropping Berisha. “What happened?”

“I heard the shooting and knew you’d run out of ammunition soon. And they shot out the tyres.”

Ron cursed. She shouldn’t have left the armoured car in which she had been hiding. She would have been safer there. Even with flat tyres.

Another burst of automatic fire struck the ground inside the yard, hitting no one but sending splinters and more ricochets across the yard. 

Harry returned fire. “Pass me a spare magazine!” he shouted.

Hermione plunged her hand into her beaded bag and pulled out several magazines. “Here!”

“We can’t stay here!” Harry yelled. “We need to get into the car! Call Sirius and tell him to step on it! We need covering fire!”

“We can use Berisha as a hostage!” Ron replied. Although the villagers might be too caught up to care even if they noticed and didn’t think he was dead already. Or wanted to use the opportunity to kill him.

“Ad?” Harry yelled as Hermione yanked out a radio and started calling Sirius.

They heard the man yell something in Albanian. Then an explosion shook the wall, and everyone dropped to the ground, taking cover, as a cloud of smoke and dust rolled over the wall.

“Grenades!” Ron yelled. They were using grenades.

“No! Too much smoke,” Harry retorted, rolling and firing at another roof.

“They blew up the car!” Hermione told them. “They’ve got RPGs!”

As Ron had expected and feared. What a damn mess. “We need to get back to the house! They’ll blow holes in the walls any moment now.”

“Ad?” Harry yelled.

No answer came. Which meant the villagers would rush the gate in a moment. As soon as…

The enemy fire grew in volume, tearing up the yard.

“More on the roof behind us!” Harry yelled as he kept the roofs on the other side, those with a clear line of fire at their position, clear. “If they have grenades…”

They had to brave the fire. Any moment, the enemy would storm the yard. Ron took a deep breath. If he rushed forward and drew fire, the others would...

Suddenly, screams rose from the other side of the wall - and from the roof behind them. And yells and curses in Albanian followed.

Sirius and the others had finally managed to get the second Land Rover into position. And he was using the MG-3 they had mounted on top to great effect.

If they suppressed the village… No. “To the house!” Ron yelled, picking up Berisha again. “Run!”

Harry and Hermione followed, Hermione darting past him and into the house, Harry running backwards and firing constantly in short bursts.

Ron pushed on with clenched teeth, forcing himself to run as fast as he could, despite Berisha weighing him down. Any moment, he’d get hit and fall. Like in London. Any moment. He heard bullets whip past his head, saw them hit the ground in front of him. They wouldn’t keep missing. Not for much longer.

Something hit him, and he was thrown forward, through the door, then smashed into the ground, rolling to the side, out of the line of fire of the enemy outside.

It had been Harry, he realised after a second spent feeling around on his back. Crazy bastard had tackled him inside.

“Ron!” Hermione was there, touching him, holding out a vial.

He laughed despite the situation. “I’m fine! I wasn’t hit!”

She stared at him, panting. Then looked him over before nodding curtly.

Meanwhile, Harry had kicked the door closed and grabbed Hermione’s radio. “Sirius? We’re in the house. How does it look outside?”

“Half the village is up in arms,” Ron heard Ginny’s voice answer. “What did you do? Sirius says he can’t keep the fire up for much longer, but we can rush the village and get you out.”

“No!” Harry snapped. “They have RPGs. Keep your distance.”

“But…”

“We’re taking the chopper!”

“What?” Hermione blurted out. “Are they close enough?”

“Test it,” Harry replied, then fired a few shots through the windows. “We don’t have long - they’ll be coming at us from the back any minute now.”

Ron nodded and dashed to the other corner so he could cover the hallway leading to the kitchen. The back door was barred, but that wouldn’t stop people from breaking into the house. Not for long. He hoped that Berisha’s presence would prevent them from throwing grenades into the house. Or using RPGs on the walls.

Hermione pressed her lips together and pulled the RC helicopter out of her bag, then switched it on. “Luna, start the engine!” she yelled.

“Roger!”

Luna sounded far too perky for the middle of a firefight, in Ron’s opinion. But the toy’s rotor blades started to turn.

“Check. Stop again!” Hermione snapped. “Moving it to the window facing you!”

“Roger!”

That would let Luna pilot it, in theory. Now all that was left was to board it. Which meant they needed to shrink - something that felt quite a bit more daunting now than when they had made plans.

But Hermione was already kneeling next to Berisha, checking the man’s bonds, before holding a vial to his lips. 

The warlord wasn’t cooperating, snarling and spitting at her despite his wounds. Ron moved over and held him, then pinched the man’s nose closed until he opened his mouth and Hermione could pour the potion in and then force him to swallow.

He gasped for air once Ron released him, then shuddered.

And then Berisha shrunk rapidly until he was about two inches high. And, judging by his reaction, was shocked by the experience. Ron didn’t mind - that made it easier to transport him. He grabbed the man and put him into the toy helicopter, securing him with some string.

“Hurry!” Harry yelled. “They’re about to rush us! Sirius! Suppress them!”

“The German piece of shit overheated,” his godfather announced.

Ron was about to move to the front windows to help Harry - the only reason the villagers hadn’t rushed them yet was the fact that the first rank would die - but Hermione pushed a vial into his hand. “Drink!” she yelled, then turned away. “Harry! Come on!”

Ron took a deep breath and swallowed the potion. It tasted as vile as he had expected, but only for a moment - then his body shuddered, and, suddenly, the furniture started to grow. No, he was shrinking.

Moments later, the toy helicopter looked the same size as a real one to him - no, a little larger, actually. He rushed to it and climbed inside, checking on Berisha. The man was unconscious but didn’t seem to be dying. And the smooth compartment they had prepared was actually rough for someone his current size. Very rough.

“Harry! Come on!” he heard Hermione yell again, as loud as an air raid siren or a plane starting up - the entire helicopter shook.

He saw the giant form of Hermione move closer to the chopper, then another giant rolled over the floor. Harry. What were they doing? Time was running out!

“Luna! Take off in fifteen seconds!” Hermione yelled, then she started to shrink, followed by Harry, and both ran towards the helicopter.

Ron was counting the seconds in his head, but both reached the toy with time to spare. He pulled Hermione inside, then Harry jumped in.

Five more seconds. Four. Three.

The door broke, wooden splinters the - relative - size of cars flying through the air, one narrowly missing the helicopter.

Two. One.

The helicopter took off just as a giant man rushed into the room, dropping prone and firing at the hallway. He noticed the chopper, but by the time he had swung his rifle round, they had already flown out of the window.

Then the helicopter started to veer back and forth, flying erratically. Ron barely managed to keep a grip on both Hermione and the support strut in the centre of the fuselage, and Berisha would have been thrown out if he hadn’t been tied down.

“Luna!” Harry yelled over the engine noise - even though she couldn’t hear them; the radio was back in Hermione’s bag and couldn’t be taken out now.

“She’s flying evasively,” Ron told him. Although she was flying _very_ evasively.

“She’s going to kill us if she keeps this up!” Harry retorted.

Hermione, meanwhile, was busy holding on to him and the strut for dear life.

He craned his neck and managed to look outside the cockpit. They had already cleared the village. He couldn’t see if anyone was shooting at them, but Sirius was firing again - he could see the muzzle flash when the chopper turned in the direction of the car - and that should keep the villagers’ heads down.

The helicopter landed behind the car, but the landing gear had barely touched the ground before they were picked up and carried into the Land Rover.

“I’ve got them!” Luna yelled - far too loud for two-inch-tall people.

“Floor it!” Sirius replied.

Then things got bumpy again. Ginny was driving.

*****

“How long does the potion’s effect last again?” Ron asked, ten minutes later. The Land Rover was still going about as fast as it could down the unpaved road. As far as Ron could tell, at least - he couldn’t see out of the windows, not with the helicopter being held on Luna’s lap.

“The dose I handed out won’t last longer than an hour,” Hermione replied. “I told you that already.”

She had. But being two inches tall while surrounded by normal-sized people in a speeding car - driven by his little sister! - was unnerving. Even inside the helicopter, he didn’t feel safe. One wrong move, one slip, and Luna’s giant body could accidentally crush them all.

“How did the potion shrink our clothes and weapons, anyway?” he asked to distract himself. “We drank it; we didn’t coat our weapons and clothes with it.” Unlike the rifle-necklaces.

“That’s how it works,” she replied. “Like the animagus transformation encompasses your clothes and wand as well. Although Polyjuice Potion works differently.”

“Ah.” He nodded. Even though it didn’t make sense.

“That’s also the reason why we can’t use the same method you used to return the rifles to their normal size,” she explained. “That only works on items.”

“Ah,” he repeated himself. He wasn’t very keen on breaking off parts of himself, anyway.

“We better get out of the helicopter now, though,” Hermione went on. “If the potion’s effect ends while we’re still inside, the consequences won’t be pretty.”

Ron winced. He could imagine that. All too well. ‘Bloody mess’ wouldn’t be adequate to describe the result of four people suddenly trying to fit inside a space smaller than a car’s glove compartment.

“Even the bench won’t be ideal, I think,” she pointed out. “Best we let the potion’s effect run out while we’re outside.”

“Tell that to Berisha’s men,” Harry said. “They won’t give up the chase any time soon.”

“We’re outpacing them, though, aren’t we?” she asked.

Ron winced again. Sirius hadn’t had to fire the machine gun on the roof for some time, but the Albanians knew the terrain and wouldn’t be driven off so easily. “Unless they’re moving to cut us off. Or calling some allies ahead.”

Hermione drew a hissing breath through clenched teeth in response to that. “How likely is that?”

“Hard to say,” Ron replied. “Alliances can shift quickly among criminals.”

“And people can be bought. If they offer enough money, even old feuds might be put on hold - especially if an outsider is the target,” Harry added.

Hermione opened her mouth, but whatever she was about to say turned into a shriek when the entire car bounced and they were thrown around the helicopter’s interior like rag dolls. Ron managed to keep his grip on the support strut, but Hermione lost hers and crashed into the wall. 

She cried out in pain and Ron was at her side a moment later, despite the still rocking helicopter. “Are you hurt?”

“Just… bruises,” she said, wincing.

“Ginny’s driving recklessly,” he replied.

“She has to,” Harry cut in, “or we’ll be caught.”

“Caught or crashing… what’s the difference?” Ron muttered. Loudly, he asked: “How’s Berisha?”

“The straps held,” Harry told him. “But he got banged up a little more.”

Damn. “We need to leave the helicopter now,” Ron said. “Get to the floor of the car.” And hope that Luna didn’t step on them.

“We’ll need more space once the potion’s effect ends,” Hermione pointed out.

“That’s half an hour away,” Harry retorted. “We need to get out now.”

“Alright.” Ron moved to the door and leaned outside, waving and yelling. “Luna! Luna!”

He had to repeat himself twice before she noticed him, then had to quickly withdraw inside the helicopter when she bent down, and her long hair fell on the toy with enough force to shake it again.

“Sorry!” she boomed as she parted her hair. “I can’t hear you. Climb on my hand!”

Ron flinched, but they had no choice. He climbed out and on to the giant palm outside the door. When the fingers - each of them as thick as his torso - closed around him, then lifted him up, he tensed and held his breath until he was almost pushed into Luna’s ear.

“We need to get out of the helicopter! It’s too dangerous inside!” he yelled.

“Oh no! I should’ve realised!” Her reply made his ears ring. “Ginny! Slow down! They’re being thrown around in there.”

One more, he was moved around, then deposited on the bench, next to Luna. The helicopter followed, and Ron almost lost his balance when Luna shifted on the bench, searching through her bag. “I’ve got it!” she announced, then pulled out a giant cushion.

“Good thinking, Luna!” Ron heard Hermione yell - though he doubted Luna heard her as she bent down and put the cushion on the floor.

He had to once more endure being picked up by a giant hand before he was gently put down on the cushion, quickly followed by the others.

Then he heard Luna yell: “They’re safe now, Ginny! Step on it!” 

Ron was thrown back when the Land Rover seemed to jump forward and spent the next fifteen minutes sliding around on the cushion. Fortunately, the cushion was so large, it also covered part of the walls. Even so, all of them picked up a few more bruises as Ron’s sister put the Land Rover through its paces.

Then Sirius suddenly yelled: “Trouble ahead!” and started firing the machine gun. And their ride got really bumpy.

He heard Ginny curse as the Land Rover took a sharp turn and went off-road, then everyone cursed when the car jumped before crashing down on the ground with enough force to throw Luna out of her seat. She narrowly avoided crushing any of them, but her hand punched into the cushion, dislodging it just as Ginny took another tight turn, and Harry, Hermione, Ron and Berisha slid off the pillow and on to the floor. Right between Luna’s various limbs.

And Luna was moving, so Ron had to jump to the side to avoid her hand as it grasped for purchase on the floor to push herself up.

“Luna! Watch out!” he yelled - not that she had a chance of hearing him, not with Sirius still firing the machine gun; Harry’s godfather had somehow managed not to get thrown off and was still standing behind the gun. Probably - Ron couldn’t see anything but Luna’s shirt above him.

He looked around for the rest of them and spotted Harry in a corner, holding on to Berisha. But where was Hermione? She had been right next to him when…

The car lurched again, and he heard a booming squeal from Luna as he lost his balance and slid over the floor once more, bumping into Luna’s boot. Which was moving. He jumped up, grabbing one of the laces with both hands, to escape getting squished between the heel and the car seat. Unfortunately, Luna then finally managed to regain her balance and sat up again, propping her boot against the back of the bench in front of her, and the movement jerked him around before he slammed into the boot with enough force to rattle his teeth.

He managed to keep his grip on the laces despite the pain, then let go and gripped the boot’s surface when the next turn of the car ended with him on top of it. The window closest to him was a mess of spider-cracks - someone was shooting at them. And had hit them. The bulletproof glass had held, but it wouldn’t last forever.

Where was Hermione? She couldn’t have been accidentally crushed! But he couldn’t see her.

“Hermione?” he yelled, but he could barely hear himself with all the noise.

He finally spotted her two wild turns later. She was still - or again - on the cushion, holding on to its edge. But she wouldn’t be able to hold on for much longer, not with the way the entire cushion moved around every time the car swerved.

And Ron was stuck on Luna’s boot, far above the floor. If he jumped - or fell - he’d break bones. Or worse. But he had to do something! The toy helicopter was on the floor as well, sliding back and forth, and it would crush Hermione if she got caught underneath it. 

Then the cushion slid across the floor as well, and he held his breath. If he timed it right… He jumped off the boot and, for a horribly long second, he thought he had miscalculated, then he smashed into the cushion, right at the corner.

The impact knocked the breath out of him, but, somehow, he held on. “Hermione!”

She turned her head - had she heard him? Over the infernal racket of the gunshots and wild driving? - and he saw her gasp.

Gritting his teeth, he held on as the cushion slid back, then quickly scrambled towards her. Just before he reached her, the car hit something again, and he lost his balance, sliding the rest of the way and bumping into her.

“Ron!”

This time, he heard her. “Are you OK?” he yelled back.

“Yes!”

She didn’t sound hurt. “We’ll have to…”

He cut himself off when the floor beneath them shifted - tilted. Ginny was driving up a slope. A very steep slope. So steep, the cushion started to slide back, under the back bench. Into the boot.

“We need to jump!” he yelled.

But before Hermione got up the nerve to do so, they hit the back door. 

Then something with a large calibre hit the back door from the other side, and it swung open.

And the cushion slid out of the car.

Ron heard Hermione scream as they fell, still clinging to the cushion. If it flipped… But it didn’t. They hit the ground on top of the pillow, which cushioned the impact and saved their lives. It still hurt, of course.

And by the time Ron had recovered enough to move, the Land Rover had crested the slope and vanished from sight.

A roar made him look back - and he saw the two cars full of armed Albanians which were chasing the Land Rover race straight towards him and Hermione.

They were in the middle of the dirt road, which, at their current size, was the size of a football field. Too far to run in the time left. He pulled Hermione down and threw himself over her and hoped for the best.

The first car arrived and drove on, straight over them. The noise was deafening, but they were in the middle between the tyres. Then the second car appeared, driving a little off-centre, and they were sprayed with mud and crushed plants as the car struggled on the slope.

But they hadn’t been crushed flat into the mud. “We need to move!” Ron snapped as he got up. “Into cover.” He helped Hermione up, ignoring her glare, then they rushed to the closest underbrush. At least at their current size, hiding would be easy. But the potion’s effect wouldn’t last all day. They had to find a hiding spot for two normal-sized humans. And fast. 

The slope was covered in thick grass - where cars hadn’t torn it up - and small trees with bushes growing between them. Neither would hide them once they were back to their normal size. “We need to reach a ravine. Or a cave.”

“I didn’t see either,” Hermione replied as they ducked under a scraggly plant that he didn’t recognise.

“We’re bound to find one, as long as we keep going,” he told her. But whether or not they’d be quick enough…

Judging by her expression, visible despite the mud on her face, she knew that as well as he did.

They hurried as best as they could, but, in the thick grass, what would have been a cross-country run was now more akin to a jungle expedition. The bushes and trees were actually the least of their worries. “You wouldn’t happen to have a machete in your bag?” he asked, half-jokingly, when he had to push through yet another clump of dense grass.

“I do, actually, but if I pull it out it will return to its proper size,” she replied, climbing over a branch the size of a log on the ground, “since it was inside the expanded space in my bag when we drank the potion, so it hasn’t been shrunk.”

“Crushed by a giant blade? I’ll pass,” he said.

They pushed on. After a particularly dense patch of grass, he checked his watch. “We’ve got about fifteen minutes left.”

“It’s not quite so precise,” she told him. “Unlike Polyjuice Potion.”

“We still should look for a hiding spot,” he said.

“Yes.”

She sounded tired, if not exhausted. And she looked the part as well, covered in drying mud. Just like Ron himself. He held out his hand to help her over a broken mushroom, but she ignored it - only to stumble and almost fall down.

A rest would be good, but with the potion’s effects ending soon, they couldn’t afford it. The two cars had disappeared over the ridge, chasing the others, but there would be others watching the area. If two people suddenly appeared in the middle of a slope over which their Land Rover had passed, they might take notice.

“Perhaps we should…” he froze and stared. “Bloody hell!” In front of him was a spider nest. A spider nest the size of a house. That meant there would also be a spider the size of a horse. Or worse.

He drew his pistol and wished he hadn’t lost the rifle in the Land Rover.

“Dear Lord!” Hermione whispered.

He couldn’t see any spiders. And he couldn’t see a web either. “We need to leave. Now!” he hissed.

She didn’t argue, just nodded, and they started to back off. He wet his lips as he looked around. There had to be a spider around here, didn’t there? Didn’t they protect their nests? He had never studied spiders - they were far too creepy.

He was panting. In this damned tall grass, a spider could be lurking right next to them, ready to ambush them… they had to retrace their steps. Unless it was hunting them.

Suddenly, he heard something. Steps. And something was moving over to the side - the grass was parting and… He fired the moment he saw the mandibles. His shots went through the chitin shell but didn’t seem to affect the monster. Then one hit it in the eye, and the spider recoiled.

“Run!”

He pushed Hermione to run, then followed her, replacing his empty magazine with a fresh one. Not that it would do anything against the monster behind them. He glanced over his shoulder. Had the thing given up already?

No! There it was, crawling through the grass, catching up… “Run!” he yelled, shooting at it. Ineffectively. Damn. It would jump any moment… There!

He threw himself to the side as the monster pounced, narrowly dodging before it crashed on to the ground. He rolled, came up and emptied his magazine into the eyes facing him.

Once more, the thing recoiled - silent but for the sound of its legs striking the ground. “Run!” He chased after Hermione but… she was running up the slope. “Wrong direction!”

“Climb!” she yelled.

“What?”

“Climb!”

He climbed.

The slope was steep here. And the spider was the better climber. There it came!

“Behind me!” Hermione yelled, chest heaving as she stuck a hand into her beaded back.

His eyes widened, and he scrambled past her as she leaned forward, facing the spider. It was far too close.

She pulled her hand out, and a giant book appeared, dropping on the spider.

For a moment, they remained frozen, the only sound their heavy breathing, staring at the book below them. He blinked. Had the spider managed to evade the book? He couldn’t see it. And there was no way to check underneath the book.

He felt her shiver in his arms. He didn’t remember embracing her. But he held her as they slowly sat down. “That was close.”

She nodded. “I forgot about animals.” She turned her head to face him, smiling weakly. “Sorry. I should have expected this.”

“How?” he asked.

She chuckled - once - and shook her head.

*****

_“Did you know there’s a huge nest of Acromantula in the Forbidden Forest?”_

_“It’s generally called a colony, not a nest, Ron,” she corrected him before she realised what he had said. “What? They aren’t native to Britain!”_

_“Yes. Hagrid started it. Apparently, the leader was one of his pets.” Ron shivered._

_“He told you?” Setting a creature like that free had to be illegal! They were sapient, but they were man-eaters!_

_“No. The monster told us. Aragog.” Ron shook his head._

_“You met them?” She hadn’t meant to yell. But… Ron - and Harry - had faced a monster like that?_

_“Yes. Hagrid said to follow the spiders. So we did. And almost got eaten.”_

_“What?” What had they gotten up to while she had been petrified? A Basilisk and Acromantula?_

_“We got away, but it was a near thing.” He shook his head again, staring at the wall across from her bed. “So many spiders… huge things.” He rubbed his arms. “We ran when they came.”_

_She shivered herself just imagining it. Poor Ron. To face giant spiders when he was afraid of normal ones… She scooted over and hugged him. “You were very brave.”_

_“Brave?” He scoffed. “I couldn’t even cast a spell! I just ran!”_

_“Brave,” she repeated herself. In his place, she would probably have been paralysed with fear._

_He snorted but didn’t contradict her._

_Good._

*****


	17. The Hunt

**East of Prizren, Kosovo, August 2nd, 2005**

Ron’s heart was still racing, and he was still breathing heavily. Still keyed up from his close brush with death at the hands - fangs - of a monster straight out of his nightmares. But it was dead now. Crushed by a giant… he blinked. “A cookbook?” He turned his head to look at her.

“It was the heaviest book I had that wasn’t essential,” she said.

Was she blushing? He couldn’t tell; they were both flushed from running. She was covered in mud and sweat. Just like him. And still trembling and shivering. Just like him. But the monster was dead. And they were alive. Alive!

Without thinking, he leaned forward and kissed her. 

He blinked. He was kissing Hermione. Had been kissing her for how long? Gasping, he pulled back and released her. “Ah…” He could feel his face heat up. Why had he done that?

She was staring at him. And blushing - now he could tell. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, though.

“I’m sorry!” he blurted out. 

For a moment, she glared at him, and he was certain that she’d slap him. But she merely pressed her lips together and nodded. Curtly. After taking a deep breath, she said: “We should go.”

Focus on the task at hand, yes. Not on his loss of control. “We need to find a hiding spot. The potion will run out any minute, won’t it?” He checked his watch - yes. Any minute.

“Yes.”

He looked around. “We won’t make it to the tree over there with the dense undergrowth.” It was about… he couldn’t estimate distances correctly like this. It looked like a few miles to him, so probably a few hundred yards, tops. Too far for them. But… “The bush there!” It would provide at least some cover, and wasn’t too far. Or so he hoped. “Let’s go. And we need to recover the book. It has your fingerprints on it.” Burning it would only attract attention.

“That will have to wait until we’re back to our normal size.”

The trip was far more nerve-wracking now that they had realised just how dangerous the area was if you were only two inches tall. A spider or another animal could be hiding behind every patch of grass, in every bush. If there was a snake… he ground his teeth.

Almost at the bush, he suddenly felt as if his stomach twisted. Then his body shook. The potion! “Down!” he yelled, grabbing Hermione and pulling her to the ground. If they grew to their normal size while standing, someone could easily spot them.

She yelped in protest, but he was already rolling away from her - if the potion’s effect on her wasn’t also ending, he might crush her. Then, suddenly, he wasn’t a tiny human anymore hiding in a field of grass the size of trees. He was a human on the ground. And so was Hermione. And the grass and bushes around them provided little, if any, cover - barely enough to hide them from view if they were prone.

They should have worn camouflage, he thought. “We’ll have to crawl the rest of the way to the tree,” he said. About two hundred and fifty yards, he guessed.

“Did you spot anyone observing us?”

“No. But they’re bound to have a lookout up,” he replied and started crawling. “Follow my route.”

That would make it a little easier on her. Only a little, though - it wasn’t as if the grass was hindering them much, if at all. At least they didn’t have to worry about getting killed by spiders or snakes any more, he tried to console himself as he felt the sun starting to burn now that the grass didn’t provide him with ample shade any more.

By the time they reached the tree and assorted bushes he had picked, he was soaked with sweat and felt exhausted. And Hermione simply collapsed next to him, chest heaving as she gulped down air. “Water…” she gasped, fingers reaching for her bag.

He waited a moment, then pried it open for her.

“Thank you.” She stuck her hand inside, then pulled it out again, holding a bottle of mineral water. “Here.”

He took it without protesting that she should drink first and guzzled it down, splashing half of it over his head. “Yes!” he sighed, closing his eyes. “That bag’s the best thing, ever.”

“Thank you. I’m quite proud of it,” she replied.

He glanced at her. She was on her back, with her eyes closed. Her hair was plastered to her head, wet from sweat and water. Her clothes were covered in dirt, part of it having turned to mud.

He wanted to kiss her again. But he couldn’t. Shouldn’t.

Damn.

“Can you get an assault rifle out? And then the radio? We need to call the others,” he said after a moment. Harry and Berisha would also have returned to their normal size by now, and they would have noticed - if they hadn’t before - that Hermione and Ron were missing. 

And if they were still alive, of course. But he didn’t want to dwell on that. 

“Yes.” She turned on to her side and reached into her bag again, pulling out another assault rifle - an M16 this time - and then a radio set. One Sirius had picked; military models with encryption.

He took it from her - she still looked exhausted - and quickly set it up. Battery looked fine, the display worked, the antenna was extended… He switched to the agreed-upon frequency. “Red One calling Tank. Red One calling Tank.” Sirius had picked the call signs, citing his military experience.

No answer.

He repeated himself twice. Still no answer. That didn’t mean anything, of course - the others could be out of reach. In these mountains, radios didn’t have the same range as on flat terrain. Especially not with a simple extendable antenna instead of a five yard one. “Satellite phone?” he asked.

Looking grim, she nodded and handed him the Iridium 9522A. He turned it on, then waited. “No connection.”

“What?”

“There’s no connection,” he repeated.

“Are you sure you’ve turned it on properly?”

“Try it yourself,” he replied, handing it back to her.

She pursed her lips and tried it herself. “It’s not connecting. But everything seems to be working.”

“We’re being jammed.” He shook his head. “Turn it off!” he snapped.

“What?”

“If they can jam it, they might also be able to locate it.”

She gasped and turned it off. “But… that would mean, the radio…”

“We need to move. Quickly.” This was worse than they had thought.

“Why would an Albanian warlord have such a capability?” she asked, stuffing the radio and phone back into her bag.

“It would come in handy if he wants to take out a competitor. Or wants to hinder NATO surveillance,” Ron said. “I’m no expert. Some criminals have phone jammers, to deal with police surveillance.” And the Iridium phone wasn’t exactly military grade equipment.

“What if this is the work of his contact?” Hermione asked, taking another swallow from her water bottle.

“If they were present, I don’t think we would have escaped the village,” Ron said, studying the area around them. “We’ll crawl to the dry creek there,” he said, pointing ahead. “Then we can follow it up the ridge and over it. Perhaps we’ll be able to contact someone from the top of the ridge.” Or from the other side, if they were jamming them from this side of the ridge.

“I need to summon the book first,” she said.

“How long will that take?”

“Not long,” she replied. He could see her jaws clench as she turned without waiting for him to respond and held out her hand. “Accio cookbook!”

It took the book five minutes to reach them. Five minutes he spent looking for enemies descending upon them. He didn’t spot anyone, though Hermione was panting and sweating even more by the time it dropped into her hand. He should comment on that, he knew. But they didn’t have many alternatives - crawling there would have taken too long.

“Here’s the spider,” she said, holding up the book and showing him the squashed remains of the little monster.

He shuddered but nodded. “Let’s go.” 

By the time they reached the creek, Hermione needed another break. They hid under the roots of a tree dangling in the air after half the soil beneath the tree had been washed away in a flood and had some energy bars.

While Hermione rested, pressed against the cool earth in the shade under the tree, Ron crawled up the side of the creek and peered back towards where they had fallen from the Land Rover. He still couldn’t spot anyone chasing them. If Berisha’s men had spotted them, wouldn’t they have come at them already? They might not even be searching for them - who would have expected two miniature people to have fallen off the Land Rover? But it wasn’t enough to bet their lives on it.

He slid back down to the tree’s roots. “It looks clear, but we should keep moving anyway. Once you’re rested,” he added when he saw her start to move. She wasn’t ready to climb up the ridge.

“I can go on,” she insisted, raising her chin to stare at him.

“What if we get discovered and have to run?” he retorted.

She didn’t say anything, but the way she pressed her lips together was answer enough.

He didn’t smile at his small victory. He moved and lay down next to her instead. “It’ll also be easier to move once the sun’s not as high,” he said.

He heard her snort at that. She knew as well as he did that they couldn’t rest until the evening. They had to move and make contact with the others.

And find out what had happened to them.

*****

After a short rest, they moved up the creek. They didn’t have to crawl all the way, but it was near enough as made no difference. And the last part up to the top didn’t have any cover. “This will be a little tricky,” he commented as they rested in the last bush of sufficient size to hide beneath - as long as they stuck close together. Close enough to be touching. “We could be spotted from miles away. Perhaps we should pick another route…”

“What? Go back down, and then up again?” Hermione sounded as if he had proposed tunnelling through the mountain. “We’re already covered in mud; we could add some more and just pass for the ground.”

“It’s mostly rock up there,” he replied.

“By the time I’m able to crawl down without dying,” she told him, “it’ll be night anyway.”

He hoped that was just hyperbole - she didn’t look that exhausted. “Perhaps we should have crawled around the lake,” he said, “as training.”

That made her laugh, at least.

“Aren’t there any magical potions to keep you going?” he asked.

“There’s the Pepper-Up Potion. It’ll deal with the common cold and lack of sleep. But if you’re physically exhausted, it’s not safe to use; you won’t fall asleep, but that’s all. You might kill yourself from exhaustion if you use it to keep going instead of sleeping.” She snorted. “Of course, sometimes a chance of dying from exhaustion is still better than getting caught.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “We’re not at that point.” Not yet.

“I know.” She looked around. “We haven’t spotted any pursuit. Nor any patrols.”

“We have to assume they have lookouts hidden in the valley,” he told her. They couldn’t risk being discovered. “It’s the tail you don’t spot that gets you caught.”

“Moody.”

“Yes.” He frowned - he knew what she was implying: That this was paranoia. But it wasn’t. Merely caution and common sense.

“At the very least, we know they weren’t tracking the radio, or they would have appeared by now,” she pointed out.

“Or they didn’t manage to locate us before we shut the radio off,” he replied. “We can’t make such assumptions.”

“Overestimating your enemy can be as deadly as underestimating them.”

He shrugged. “Not as often, though.” He shook his head. “We need to get on top of the ridge to have any chance of making contact with the radio. And check if the phone’s still being jammed, too.” He thought of Dumbledore sending in a plane armed with anti-radar weapons and laughed. 

As did she, once he explained. “Not even the Phoenix Gruppe could send a warplane over Kosovo without NATO detecting it and taking action. But I bet he has a team ready to intervene near the area. Or two.”

“But they won’t know anything until told to move in, and they can’t be too close, or they’ll realise it was about Berisha even if they aren’t given orders to intervene,” he pointed out.

“You’re speculating.”

“Yes. But my speculation is based on what he told us. And on the fact that he let us go on this mission in the first place,” he retorted.

“You mean the fact that he let me go on the mission,” she corrected him.

“Yes.” Ron had no doubt that Dumbledore considered everyone else in their group expendable. Without them, Hermione would have to depend entirely on the support of Phoenix Gruppe. He eyed the ridge again. “Read to move?”

“Yes.” She sounded confident. She might be overestimating her stamina - but she had been running with them ever since they had arrived at the lab and he had seen what she could do. 

Good enough. “Let’s camouflage ourselves then!”

“I really wish I had Harry’s Cloak of Invisibility.”

“We’ll have to make do with a cloak of camouflage,” he replied with a grin.

“A mud cloak, you mean.”

“Like in ‘Predator’, yes. Now let’s get out some water bottles so we can improvise some mud.”

“I’ll ask Dumbledore for camouflage suits once we’re back.”

“Make it ghillie suits.” Although even camouflage netting would be very helpful right now.

It didn’t take very long to camouflage themselves - they weren’t up against an alien killer with infrared vision, after all. All they needed was to break up their silhouettes. Which fresh mud, thanks to a few more water bottles, did perfectly well.

Crawling up to the top of the ridge took another thirty minutes, but mostly because they didn’t want to move too quickly. Ron was first and peered down into the valley on the other side. Forested, good cover.

Then he saw the smoke at the bottom. A burning vehicle - he knew what that looked like. He clenched his teeth. “I need the binoculars.”

It couldn’t be the others! They couldn’t be dead!

“Here!” She gasped as she spotted the burning vehicle as well. “Is… is that...?”

“No.” He grabbed the binocs and focused on the burning vehicle. It was hard to tell, but… “It’s not a Land Rover.”

He could hear her relieved sigh next to him.

“No bodies nearby,” he reported. “None that I can see, in any case.” If there had been bodies - and Ron thought there would be, given that Sirius had been shooting at them - that probably meant they had been recovered. Which meant at least some of Berisha’s men were still alive. Though… had they given up the chase, or had they recovered their own wounded and dead after finishing the others?

“Shall we try again to raise them on the radio?” Hermione asked.

He pondered this as he searched the valley below them for any sign of the Albanians or Harry and the others. He couldn’t spot anyone, though. The satellite phone would be harder to track, or so he thought. But using it would involve contacting Dumbledore. And revealing that Ron and Hermione had been separated from the others might endanger them - Dumbledore would certainly prioritise recovering Hermione, even at the cost of the rest of their group. If he didn’t immediately use them as a distraction. “Let’s try the radio,” Ron said.

She nodded in agreement. She was probably more concerned about the others than about herself. Especially, Ron thought, if they looked like her best friends in her world.

So they set up the radio, pulled out the antenna and flicked it on. “Red One calling Tank. Red One calling Tank.”

He heard a squeal. “Ron! Where are you? We were so worried!”

He had to smile despite the breach of security - Luna never cared much about communication protocols, unless they were computer protocols. But she was alive. “How are the others?”

“Si…” She was interrupted by a shouted “Call signs, Battleaxe!” So, Sirius was alive as well. Ron could almost see Luna pout and roll her eyes as she continued: “ _Tank_ was wounded, but not seriously. Pitch and Red Two are alright. Car’s damaged.”

He sighed with relief, closing his eyes for a moment, and felt Hermione’s arms wrap around his torso and squeeze. 

“They’re alive!” she whispered.

“Where are you?”

“Oh, we’re… hmm…” “Give me the microphone.” “You’re wounded, you need to rest.” “Give me the microphone.”

“Yes, they’re fine,” he told Hermione. As Mum always said: if you can argue, you don’t need any help.

“Tank to Red One: We’re at three-seven-double-oh and two-four-double-oh. Approximately. Your position? Over.”

That meant they were three thousand seven hundred metres north and two thousand four hundred metres east of ‘Point Alpha’. Which was a set of coordinates Sirius had picked, probably randomly, to the southwest of the area.

Hermione had already pulled the GPS out, and half a minute later, she told Ron their own coordinates relative to Point Alpha.

They were about ten miles apart - with a damaged car. Well, that’s what you got when Ginny was driving. His sister should have become a sports racing driver instead of a tennis player. He relayed the coordinates to the others.

“Tank to Red One. Are you in a safe location? Over.”

“Red One to Tank. No. Over.”

“Tank to Red One. Copy, unsafe location. Find a safe location and contact us again. We’ll prepare an extraction. Over.”

“Red One to Tank. Copy, searching for safe hiding spot. How long will it take you? Over.”

“Tank to Red One. We don’t know yet. Assume at most twenty-four hours. Over.”

A day? They had to hole up in this area for a day?

“Red One to Tank: We can exfiltrate on foot. Over,” Ron quoted a military sci-fi novel.

“Tank to Red One: Negative. Not safe. Over.”

Great. Had they pissed off the entire region? Ron wouldn’t put it past Sirius to have accidentally machine-gunned some bystander’s favourite car or cousin and started another blood feud. But there was nothing he could do about. “Red One to Tank. Copy, moving now. Over.”

“Tank to Red One: Copy, you’re moving. Out.”

Not for the first time, Ron wondered if Sirius’s wordplay was intentional.

“Where should we hide?” Hermione asked. “We need to keep in range of the others.”

“And we also need to move from here, in case our radio transmission was detected,” Ron said. He looked around. “Let’s climb down and follow the ridge until we find a hiding spot.” Although finding one that Berisha’s men didn’t know about would be difficult. Ron hoped they weren’t looking in the first place.

They climbed and slid down the ridge, again taking their time so they wouldn’t draw attention from a lookout, until they reached the cover of a scraggly treeline. Then they followed the treeline along the ridge until they came upon another dry creek - with the cover provided by a few nearby trees, it made a decent hiding spot.

As long as it didn’t rain. That would turn the hiding spot into a death trap unless they left at once. On the other hand, the locals would be aware of that, and so might not consider it a suitable hiding spot.

Given how exhausted Hermione looked, they had to rest anyway.

“Let’s hide here,” he said, nodding towards a spot under a slight overhang. 

She didn’t argue, which told him that she was as exhausted as she looked. “For how long?” she asked as she sat down on the bare ground.

“A few hours at least,” he replied, joining her after a quick look around, carefully putting the rifle down so the muzzle stayed clear of the ground. “Blanket?”

“I’ll have to replace half my supplies,” she said, though she was smiling as she did so - and she pulled two blankets out of her bag. Grey-coloured.

“Home sweet home,” he commented as they spread one blanket on the ground, then covered themselves with the other.

“If you dragged as much mud around at home as we’re doing here, I think you’d end up in the pond,” she told him.

He chuckled, even though it was eerie to realise, once more, just how much she knew about his family thanks to knowing their counterparts.

“What ration would you like?” She didn’t bother hiding her triumphant grin. Of course, they’d end up needing the MREs!

He sighed, which made her grin widen even more. “Chicken with Thai sauce.”

“Ah! Here.”

So she had remembered that they were his favourites - among the MREs in her bag. “Thank you.”

She hadn’t picked roast beef, though, but spaghetti with meatballs. Or something like it. She handed him a flameless ration heater as well. “Here.”

That came in handy as well in their current situation. No flame, no smoke. She still looked too smug, in his opinion. But fifteen minutes later, they were eating.

*****

“See how useful MREs are?”

He rolled his eyes at her as he handed back the plastic bag stuffed with the empty packaging for disposal. Most anything tasted good if you were hungry, after all. “This is quite different from saving time in a lab.” They were whispering, of course; mustn’t give away their position.

“They’re good for that as well.”

“That I’ll contest.”

“I know.”

He hesitated a moment, then asked: “Because my counterpart did the same?”

She frowned at him, then shook her head. “You made your views quite clear.” With a sigh, she added: “But my world’s Ron was used to his mum’s cooking, which was extraordinary. Even Hogwarts’ cooking paled in comparison.”

“Ah.” The git probably complained about the cooking during the war. But as much as Ron would love to hear about his counterpart’s few flaws, that wasn’t a good topic of conversation. “Mum is a good cook as well,” he said. “It was quite a change when I moved out. The twins and Percy regularly visit on Sundays.” 

“And you?”

“When I can make it. My hours are often a little irregular.”

“Ah.”

He smiled at the memories of those family dinners. “Charlie and Bill usually work abroad, so they’re rarely home.”

“That’s the same in my world. Charlie works with dragons in Romania and Bill works as a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts.” She was looking at the sky - or at the branches and leaves above them - not at him, and she was smiling.

“Dragons? Aren’t they dangerous?”

“They are. Mrs Weasley often complains about his burns. Or did,” she added with a sigh.

Uh oh. Another landmine. “My Charlie studied biology; he’s currently in Africa collecting ape shit.”

She snorted at his crude joke. “And Bill?”

“Investment banker in New York. The black sheep of the family.”

She laughed again - softly. “Really?”

“It’s a stressful job, and Mum would have liked him to work in London. And he’s living it up, or so he claims. She wants him to settle down and start a family.”

“Ah. My world’s Bill works in Egypt, or did until the war. Tomb raiding.”

“Oh.” So Curse-Breaker wasn’t a medical profession. “The two Weasley families sound quite similar, though. The twins are trouble makers, Charlie and Bill abroad, Percy working for the government like Dad...”

“Yes.” She sounded a little guarded. Best not to push further. And no asking about her family.

“So, what about your Harry’s family?”

“They’re vile,” she spat.

She had mentioned the Dursleys, he remembered. “Do they also try to use him to make connections? Or try to get his money?”

“No. They loathe him.”

“Oh.” And with her Sirius having been in jail, they would have been Harry’s closest relatives… best not go there either. 

“Does Sirius have cousins here?”

“Two. Andromeda, the nice one. And Narcissa, the other one,” he replied. That was how Sirius described them.

“There’s no third cousin?”

He pressed his lips together. “There was Bellatrix. She married Ralph Lestrange against her family’s wishes. Ralph and his brother Robert had joined Riddle’s terrorist cell, though that wasn’t known at the time, only that they had extreme left-wing sympathies - and were quite active, too. Anti-war, anti-imperialism, the works. Apparently, they tried to steal her money to support Riddle and when she found out, she ‘had an accident’. Harry’s dad solved the case, shooting the Lestranges in the process and foiling the entire plot, which, presumably, made Riddle go after him and his family.” And which led to Harry becoming an orphan. And having killed a man as a kid. Sirius had never said, but he must blame Bellatrix for that, at least in part, or so Ron assumed.

“Oh.” She pursed her lips. “That sounds like a very different Bellatrix Lestrange to the one I knew.”

“Oh?” 

“She joined the Dark Lord. And she was his chief assassin. And torturer,” she replied in a flat voice.

Damn, he had been an idiot again. Even though he hadn’t known about Lestrange, he should have noticed how tense she was and dropped the subject, not asked for more information. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

But it was. Sort of. He sighed and stared at the sky as well. What he could see of it through the foliage, at least.

“Why didn’t it work out between you and Luna?”

He blinked at the sudden question and glanced at her. She was looking at him, biting her lower lip. Nervous? Why would she be…? He took a deep breath. “It was probably my job.”

“Oh?”

“Not like you think,” he corrected her. “We did have some differences of opinion about working for the police, but it wasn’t as if that was the single reason for breaking up. But I was working in London, and we didn’t see each other as often as we used to. Then there were the hours - when Harry and I started out, we got the worst shifts. And, well, we both changed, too. We started dating when we were teenagers.” And the fact that, at the time, he hadn’t wanted his colleagues and superiors to know that he was dating a girl with a rather negative but very vocal opinion of the police hadn’t helped at all, of course. “We drifted apart. We remained friends, though.”

“That’s obvious,” she said. “And were there any other significant others?”

He glanced at her again; this time, she wasn’t looking at him. “Nothing serious,” he replied.

She nodded at that. And she was smiling.

*****

He woke up with his arms around Hermione and his face full of muddy hair. Apparently, her ponytail had come undone. Probably at the same time she had moved into his lap. Which he hadn’t noticed - he must have been more tired than he had thought. A quick check of his watch confirmed that they had slept for a few hours. His headphones had stayed on, fortunately - he hadn’t missed any calls on the radio.

He knew he should wake her up. Take a look around. Check for enemies. But he didn’t want to. He just wanted to remain like this a little longer. With her. Even if both of them were covered in mud and hiding in a dry creek, he didn’t want this moment to end yet.

Of course, as soon as he thought that, she woke up. Or rather, she started to - she was shifting around in his lap, stretching slightly. Moaning softly.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he struggled with the urge to kiss her again.

Ron felt the moment she woke up. She suddenly tensed, then drew a sharp breath. He was tempted to fake being asleep, see what she would do in his place, but whispered “Good morning” instead.

She tensed again. “Good afternoon, I believe.”

“Or evening,” he replied - the sun was about to disappear behind the mountains to the west.

She hadn’t moved off his lap. He hadn’t taken his arms away, either.

“What do you think the others will do?” she asked after a moment.

“They’ll call Dumbledore for help.” It was the only logical option. If it was too dangerous for Ron and Hermione to leave the area on foot, then it was too dangerous for the others - with a wounded Sirius - to come and fetch them. The Land Rover would draw too much attention.

“And what will he do?”

That was trickier. A helicopter would be the fastest way to recover them. But it would also be quite obvious. And if anyone in the vicinity had a MANPAD stashed somewhere… Helicopters didn’t do well against missiles, even older missiles. Though the alternative - a convoy, probably armoured - would be even more noticeable. And tell everyone that someone very important was being recovered. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think he’ll send a helicopter or an armoured personal carrier. But I don’t know what forces he has available.”

“And what forces he’ll trust,” she added.

“Yes.” Ron was fairly certain that Dumbledore wouldn’t baulk at eliminating people he didn’t trust, should they happen to know too much. “Too bad we don’t have a miniaturised plane we could use to fly away.”

“Could you pilot it?” She shifted, craning her neck to look at him.

“Ah, there’s the flaw in my plan,” he said with a faint grin.

She snorted. “One of the flaws. Constructing a miniaturised plane that can be piloted by shrunken people would also require a lot of technological expertise. And probably a lot of trials before it could be trusted.”

“Could we take an ordinary RC plane and simply shrink the remote control?” he asked.

She blinked. “That… I think it would work.” She frowned. “But none of the planes and helicopters in my bag have the range to leave the area.”

He nodded. They hadn’t really considered endurance when they had planned their escape by RC helicopter. Range of the remote control had been too short anyway. “My fault.”

“What? No. You thought of it in the first place.” She shifted around to face him, frowning.

“Too late to do us any good, though,” he replied. “And how much Shrinking Solution do you have left?”

“Enough for at least two such trips,” she replied. “So we might be able to do that in the future.”

She didn’t have to say that that might be their trump card, should they have to flee from Dumbledore. “We’ll need some anti-spider weapons, though,” he added with a shudder.

“Yes,” she agreed. “And perhaps…”

He shushed her with a gesture. The birds in the trees to their left had stopped singing.

“Something’s disturbing the wildlife,” he whispered as he pushed her off his lap and grabbed the rifle. She gasped and grabbed her bag, then the blankets. While she stuffed them back into her bag, Ron crawled to the left and climbed the bank of the dry creek where the grass was particularly dense on top, his rifle on his back.

He reached the top and slid into the closest bush, where he unslung his rifle. The muzzle was clear of mud and dirt, he noted with relief - he hadn’t been certain he would manage it. He slowly brought it up, taking care not to disturb the branches hiding him, and inched forward until he could peer out of the bush, into the woods.

The undergrowth wasn’t as dense as it would be elsewhere, but his field of vision was still limited in the rough terrain. This was the direction from which they had come. If anyone was tracking them…

“Shit!”

He jerked at hearing the sudden curse. English? Who would...

But the expletive was followed by a string of Albanian words. Probably more curses - the voice sounded angry. He heard another voice, but couldn’t make out any words, and then the first man cursed some more. So two men - at least two, Ron corrected himself.

He gripped his rifle and pressed the shaft against his shoulder. He couldn’t see them, but they were close. Too close. What were the odds that someone would just happen to stumble on them? Slim to none. On the other hand, anyone tracking them should know better than to alert everyone and everything to their presence by yelling. Could they be trekkers or hunters?

He pressed his lips together. He couldn’t shoot civilians who didn’t mean him any harm. That would be murder. He was a police officer, not some secret agent who eliminated witnesses! And if he shot anyone, the noise would alert any others anyway.

But Berisha’s men would then have to search for him and Hermione. Dead hunters couldn’t tell everyone where they were, and what they looked like. And they would have to find the bodies, first, before they would know to search for them.

So… but it would be murder. Killing someone just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Though if Hermione got captured by Berisha’s men…

Movement! Something was moving through the bushes in front of him! He held his breath and aimed his rifle at the centre of the undergrowth. The men had stopped talking. Did they suspect something?

A man appeared, moving slowly, carefully, through the foliage. He was wearing civilian clothes and carrying a hunting rifle. Not camouflage and a Kalashnikov. Damn. A hunter, probably. That didn’t rule out him being one of Berisha’s men. But Ron couldn’t shoot him just to be on the safe side. Even if the man had his rifle ready, not slung on his back.

Ron licked his lips, tasting his own sweat as he tracked the man with his assault rifle. The Albanian was looking around. Hunting. But was he hunting Ron and Hermione, or game? He looked like a normal hunter, not a mercenary or thug.

The second man to emerge from the undergrowth behind the first didn’t look like a hunter at all, though. He was in a camouflage suit - surplus Bundeswehr, Ron thought - with one leg covered in mud up to the man’s hip, and he carried an assault rifle.

Although some people hunted like that. Americans, for example. Ron couldn’t just gun them down from ambush. But if they were working for Berisha, then he couldn’t let them find Hermione and himself, either.

He cursed silently as the hunter in the lead moved even closer to his position. Ron would be spotted at any moment. What could he do? Take them prisoner? Ron was alone, and there were two of them with their rifles at the ready. Would they even understand him if he demanded their surrender? Well, with their country covered with NATO troops, they should understand English well enough...

The hunter crouched down, checking the ground. Looking for their tracks? Or for animal tracks?

Ron clenched his teeth. He couldn’t wait any longer. “Kosovo Force! Drop your weapons!” he yelled.

Instead of complying, the two men dropped to the ground. Ron fired a burst at the hunter and rolled to the side as automatic fire tore through the bush, taking cover behind a tree trunk. He heard the hunter scream - he had hit him, then, but not fatally. That left the other man.

Ron slid back a little, then rolled to the side and crawled forward. Where was the other man? The hunter was moaning but didn’t call out for help. Was he already too far gone for that?

Movement! Ron swung his rifle around, firing several rounds at the foliage, then pushed himself back. Bullets tore up the earth in front of him. Where was the bastard? He changed position. To the other side of the trunk.

He couldn’t see any smoke from a shot… too slow to catch it. The longer he took here, the worse their chances to escape any reinforcements would be. He had to finish this fight, quickly.

Movement! Ron aimed but didn’t fire. Damn camouflage suit… there! He aimed carefully, tracking the man through the woods. A little more… He fired. The man fell. Ron hesitated a moment, then put another round into the body on the ground. No screaming, no moving. Dead.

He closed his eyes, grit his teeth, then slid down the slope to Hermione. They had to leave now!

“We need to go!” he snapped. “There were two people hunting us.”

“Hunting us?” she asked as she moved towards him. She had a vial in her hand that she stashed in her bag. It didn’t look like a healing potion.

“They were tracking us,” he explained.

“And you tried to pose as a member of KFOR,” she replied.

“Yes. It didn’t work, though.” And now they were dead. Or dead and dying, in one case. He suppressed the guilt he felt at leaving the hunter to die - he couldn’t afford to try to save an enemy.

She nodded. “Do we go on or change course?”

If Berisha’s men were smart, they would have split up and were now converging on them from multiple directions. “Let’s go back over the ridge.”

“We’ll lose contact with the others.”

“Can’t be helped,” he replied, already moving up the creek. That way, they’d have cover for most of the distance. “We’ll return to this side in a few hours.”

He heard her draw a sharp breath at that, and when he glanced over, he saw she was frowning. He didn’t look forward to walking for hours, either. But it couldn’t be helped.

They reached the end of the creek, below the ridge, without spotting anyone else. But to go further, they would have to expose themselves. And someone would be watching the ridge. After Ron had shot two men, that was certain.

“I don’t like this,” he muttered.

“It’s not exactly my favourite pastime, either,” Hermione replied, her tone apparently barely affected by the exertion of climbing the ridge so far.

“They’re bound to be watching the ridge. If we move out of cover, we might draw fire.” He looked at her.

“I can’t disillusion us,” she replied to his unasked question. “I could cover the area in smoke, but…” She shrugged.

That would tell their enemies exactly where they were. “We could shrink, but…” That would turn the distance to the top of the ridge from two hundred yards to four miles. Up a steep slope. And they wouldn’t be able to contact the others until the potion’s effect ended if they merely wanted to hide for a few hours in a mouse hole. Not to mention they would have to watch for spiders and other monsters.

“We can’t stay here,” he said. “The man I shot won’t have been the only hunter able to track people.”

“You mean we’ll have to cover ourselves in mud and crawl. Again.”

She didn’t look happy. He grinned. “We’re still covered in mud. We just need a few touch-ups.” 

That earned him a glare and a huff.

He wanted to kiss her. But they had to move. 

Five minutes later, they were covered in mud and crawling - slowly - towards the top of the ridge. He kept glancing over his shoulder regularly; Hermione was slow, so he had to wait on her anyway. 

Halfway to their goal, he spotted them. Several men were moving up the creek, about five hundred yards down. They were advancing slowly and carefully - they must have found the two dead men and feared another ambush. But even so, they would catch up before Ron and Hermione reached the top and disappeared over the ridge. 

Damn. He pressed his lips together. They couldn’t run. The steep slope would slow them down. Enough for a good shooter to hit them. And he couldn’t take on half a dozen men. Experienced men, too - not some idiots imitating action movies. They couldn’t hide, either - their improvised camouflage wouldn’t hold up once the distance shrank. 

“Let’s hide behind the rock and call the others,” he said. If that failed, they could take the shrinking solution and hide. And hope the enemy would leave after losing them. Before the potion’s effect ended.

It took them a few minutes to crawl into cover, but as soon as she was behind the rock, Hermione pulled out the radio while Ron kept an eye on the approaching enemies.

“Brown to Tank. Brown to Tank. Over.”

“Tank to Brown. What’s your status?” That was Sirius.

“We need help. Urgently. We’re about to be discovered,” Ron heard her say.

“Tank to Brown. Where are you? Over.”

She told them.

“Tank to Brown. We’ll be there in ten minutes. Mark your position with red smoke in five. Over.”

Ten minutes? That meant a helicopter. He saw that Hermione was looking at him and nodded. They could hold out for ten minutes. After a few shots, he doubted that Berisha’s men would be willing to charge up the slope.

“OK,” Hermione replied. “Hurry.”

“Tank to Brown. Copy. Out.”

Ron flashed a smile at her, to reassure her. They could do this. He could do this.

He took aim at the one in front, then squeezed the trigger. The man dropped, and Ron sent a few more shots down the slope, almost randomly. All he had to do was to keep Berisha’s men scrambling for cover.

He slid down the rock to reload just as they started to return fire, then changed position, coming up behind another rock. He couldn’t spot them - they were under cover. Which meant they weren’t moving towards him. Good.

He changed position again while several shots from the enemy passed overhead. “Hand me some smoke grenades. Not the red ones.”

“Of course not,” she snapped. But she did pass him the grenades.

He threw two of them down the slope, as far as he could. That would block line of sight - and, therefore, line of fire. Somewhat, at least. If they had some tear gas, and if the wind were blowing in the right direction… But they didn’t. And it wasn’t.

He returned to his first spot, almost climbing over Hermione, and surveilled the area. Nothing in the smoke. But… there! He fired a few shots at a man trying to flank them. Then he rushed over to the other side - there had to be someone trying that there as well. He couldn’t see them, though. Damn.

“Setting red smoke,” Hermione said. 

“Do it on this side,” he told her. That would block them. A little.

The shots were coming closer now. He could hear the impacts against the rocks nearby. And the angles were widening - they were flanking them.

Where was the damn helicopter? Time was running out.

Through the noise from the shots, he suddenly heard another noise. The helicopter!

Berisha’s men must have heard it as well, since their fire quickly tapered off.

“There!” Hermione yelled, pointing up.

Yes! A helicopter was flying alongside the ridge. A military model - with KFOR markings. Were the NATO forces getting involved? No! “They’re posing as KFOR forces!” he said as the helicopter came to a stop, hovering twenty yards behind them. There was Harry, waving at them as the door opened. Next to him was a soldier with a machine gun.

Hermione dropped more smoke down the slope, then they rushed towards the helicopter.

Ron ran behind her - some idiot might still be firing blindly at the smoke or the helicopter. 

But if someone was, their shots went wide. Harry pulled Hermione into the helicopter, Ron climbed inside and, a moment later, they were flying away.

They were safe.

*****

_She was safe. Free. Her friends had come for her. Had sprung her from her cell. Unless, she thought with sudden anxiety, this is just a cruel joke. To make her think she were safe, only to crush her hope._

_But that was Lestrange’s body on the ground. And she was holding Lestrange’s wand. The dark witch wouldn’t go that far. And she wasn’t the type to be so subtle, anyway. No - she shivered - that witch had only ever used the Torture Curse._

_“Hermione?”_

_She turned. Ron. He held out his hand. “We need to leave.”_

_She blinked. Yes, they had to. Ron and Harry and the others had broken into the manor, but the Death Eaters might send reinforcements at any moment._

_She took his hand, and he led her out. Out of the dungeons. “How… How did…?” She broke off. Her throat hurt. Too much screaming._

_He understood her anyway. “Dobby knows a secret passage.”_

_Ah. Of course. She smiled. How fitting - tonight, the Malfoys were reaping what they had sowed. “B-burn.”_

_“Once we’re all clear,” he told her._

_Harry rejoined them, with Dobby and Fred and George - had they brought their cell? - and they entered the secret passage._

_Ten minutes later, Ron and she were kissing in the forest while, behind them, Fiendfyre consumed Malfoy Manor._ _And the Malfoys._

*****


	18. The Kiss

**East of Prizren, Kosovo, August 2nd, 2005**

As the helicopter tore through the sky, Ron held Hermione. Kissed her, heedless of the mud and dirt covering both of them. They were safe. She was safe. They had made it.

She was in his lap, arms round him, hands pressing against his back. He could feel her heartbeat. Feel her warmth. Feel her lips. Her tongue.

They broke the kiss, panting. And not just from that last sprint to the helicopter. He smiled at her. “We’re safe,” he said.

She blinked. She couldn’t hear him, he realised. Not with the infernal noise of the chopper’s engines drowning out every word. He had to laugh at that. It was just too silly - he hadn’t even noticed the noise until now.

She laughed as well, still in his arms. They started kissing again.

And then Harry, the git, pushed headsets with ear protectors - earphones - towards them. Granted, Ron’s friend was grinning from ear to ear, but still - the moment was lost. Hermione let go of him to pull on the headset, and he followed suit.

“Testing, testing,” he said after adjusting the throat mike.

“Loud and clear,” Harry replied.

“Yes,” Hermione added, still fiddling with hers.

“Where are the others?” Ron asked. 

“Back at the base,” Harry replied.

Not the safehouse, then. “Base?” Were these people actually KFOR soldiers?

“Our employer set up a helicopter with ground support,” his friend explained.

“I assume the NATO forces don’t know about them,” Hermione said.

“That’s right,” Harry confirmed. “Officially, it’s a medevac flight for a British citizen. Which is kind of true, actually, seeing as Sirius was hurt.”

“How’s he doing?” Ron asked.

“He’s fine. He was complaining that he wasn’t allowed on the chopper, of course.”

“Ah.” Ron glanced around. There were two soldiers in the helicopter, both manning machine guns by the doors. 

“They don’t know our names,” Harry answered before Ron could ask. “Hence the code names we used on the radio.”

“Ah.” So it hadn’t just been Sirius being an officer.

“This channel is secure?” Hermione asked.

“Luna checked it.”

That was good enough for Ron, even though the constant secrecy was a pain. Being able to talk freely any time he wanted to had almost been worth being shot at and hunted. “Is she OK? And Ginny?”

He saw Harry take a deep breath. That wasn’t a good sign. “This was the second time they were under fire,” he told them after a moment. “And this time, the danger wasn’t over after a few minutes.”

Damn. Ron closed his eyes. They should never have let the two girls come along. He remembered the shakes he’d had after the first time he’d been in a shooting as a police officer. Not even catching Pettigrew had prepared him for that. He felt a hand on his thigh and looked up. Hermione was smiling at him, though in a sad way. He smiled back. She would know what they were going through right now. “They’ll need help,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“I’ve talked with Ginny about it, but…” Harry shrugged.

Ron nodded, sighing. His sister was too stubborn for her own good.

“So…” Harry trailed off, looking back and forth between Ron and Hermione.

Ron ignored the unspoken question. It wasn’t as if he knew what exactly was between them now, anyway. They hadn’t talked about it. But they would have to. Once they had some privacy.

*****

**North of Prizren, Kosovo, August 2nd, 2005**

The flight to the ‘base’ was very short. Ron shook his head when he realised that, as much as it had felt as if they were in the middle of nowhere when they had been running for their lives, they hadn’t actually been very far from help. “We could have walked here in a day or two,” he commented.

“I think you underestimate the terrain,” Hermione replied as the helicopter touched down and they saw Sirius - his arm in a sling - as well as Ginny and Luna rush towards it, behind a ground crew with a refuelling vehicle and what looked like a replacement cockpit crew. And people carrying… cleaning devices? Oh, to scrub the decals labelling the machine as a NATO vehicle. He also spotted a stretcher with a figure wrapped in bandages - including their head. That would be Berisha.

“Stay in,” Harry said, unnecessarily.

“Can’t we take a shower and change our clothes?” Hermione asked.

“We’d rather not be here once the NATO forces check flight plans and radar contacts,” Ron’s friend replied. “You’ll have to use wipes.” He didn’t quite manage to hide his grin.

“Arse,” Ron muttered, but Harry ignored that, just as he ignored Hermione’s glare.

“Oh my god! What did you do, wallow in mud?”

“Hi, Sis,” Ron said with a wry grin. “It’s camouflage.”

“You posed as pigs and fooled your pursuers. Well done!” Luna said, getting in on the teasing.

“It might have worked better than what we actually did,” Hermione replied.

Ron raised his eyebrows - he wouldn’t have expected her to be a good sport about being teased. Then again, she would know what Luna and Ginny were going through. He nodded, forcing himself to smile. “Yeah. Not our finest hour.”

“Oh?” Sirius said, stumbling a little as he tried to climb inside with one arm in a sling and the other busy waving off the men moving to assist him. “Do tell! We could do with better in-flight entertainment.”

Sirius, on the other hand, was a veteran soldier and, therefore, fair game.

*****

**North of Tirana, Albania, August 2nd, 2005**

“...and then Hermione dropped a cookbook on the spider,” Ron said. 

“That must have been terrible,” Ginny commented, looking concerned.

Being shot at really must have shaken her. Ron winced at his own thought - his sister wasn’t the bratty kid who annoyed him whenever she could get away with it any more.

“It was terrifying,” Hermione replied. “I should have thought of that possible threat when we planned this.”

“We all should have,” Ron quickly added. In hindsight, it was obvious.

“We weren’t planning on hiking through the wilderness,” Harry pointed out. “We just planned to board a helicopter and fly to the Land Rover.”

“Which, I have to point out, worked as planned,” Sirius told them. “Despite a few problems.”

“It was my fault!” Luna said suddenly. “I should have kept you from getting lost.”

“No, it wasn’t your fault,” Hermione told her. “None of us thought this through as much as we should have. Least of all me, and I should have known since it was my potion and my plan.”

“I should have had a box with a cushion for you,” Luna insisted.

“We probably would have fallen out of it anyway,” Ron pointed out. “And that couldn’t be helped either, not with them shooting at us,” he added before Ginny could feel guilty.

“Everyone made it out alright,” Sirius said. “We lived, and we’ll learn from this for next time.”

“Next time?” Harry asked.

“We’ll have to track down whichever bastard warned Berisha,” Sirius replied. “And I don’t think we can leave that to others. Not when we have to assume there was a leak.”

Ron glanced over at the Albanian, who was sedated and strapped to a stretcher in the back of the compartment. Bandages covered his face - he would be passing for a burn victim. If anyone looked into the flight, they might connect it to the burned-out vehicle they had left behind. It wasn’t much of a cover story, but it should keep Hermione’s presence a secret. So they hoped, at least - but if there was a leak in the Phoenix Gruppe…

The pilot’s voice interrupted their secure communications. “We’ll arrive at Tirana International Airport in a few minutes.”

“He didn’t tell us to fasten our seatbelts and put our seats in the upright position,” Ron muttered. Hermione laughed, and he smiled at her.

“Do we have to pose as medical professionals for the transfer?” he asked.

“Not you two,” Harry told him and Hermione.

“You look more like patients,” Ginny added. “What with all the mud.”

“Don’t tell me we can’t even take a shower at the airport,” Hermione protested. “If we arrive like this in Scotland, then analysing the mud could tell someone where we were.” She glared at everyone.

She had a point, in Ron’s opinion. And not just because he really wanted to wash off the dirt, mud and sweat he had accumulated during their ‘detour’. “Yes. It would look really weird if we arrived like this.”

*****

**Tirana International Airport, Albania, August 2nd, 2005**

A mobile shower in a corner of the hangar, partitioned off with a few tarps hung from lines, wasn’t exactly a luxury bathroom. But the water was warm, and it felt incredibly good to get clean again. Ron sighed loudly as he ran his hands through his - finally! - clean hair.

“Ron, hurry up! We need to take off in ten minutes!” Ginny called out from the other side of the tarp.

He sighed again, annoyed now, and turned off the water.

“No rest for the wicked,” he mumbled while he grabbed a towel.

“Don’t forget to take your dirty clothes with you.”

“Yes, Mum,” he snapped back.

Her laughter was short-lived but loud, though it felt a little forced. She was definitely affected by her close brush with death. And killing. Luna would be as well, of course, but she was better at hiding her emotions.

Though all he could do right now was be a good sport about the teasing. 

He dressed himself in the clean clothes on the plastic chair in the corner and slicked his hair back - no time to blow-dry it. Well, it was a warm day. And it wasn’t as if he had a mane like Hermione.

He tied his shoes and pulled the tarp back to slip out. Ginny was rolling her eyes at him. “Don’t you ever complain again about me taking my time in the bathroom!” she told him.

“Sure, sure.” It wasn’t as if they lived at home any more. 

His sister narrowed her eyes at him, then shook her head. “Let’s go. Everyone’s waiting for you. Hermione’s waiting for you.”

He saw her grin as she turned towards the plane and shook his head. Did she think they had sex while running for their lives? On the other hand, they had kissed in the helicopter. Harry would probably have told Ginny about it, the git. “It’s not like that,” he said.

“What is it like, then?” she asked, halfway to the plane.

“Complicated.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And between her and me.” There were lines he wouldn’t let her cross, shock from being under fire or not.

She scoffed but didn’t say anything else before they entered the plane, and then she went straight to her seat next to Harry - behind Sirius and Luna’s row. Which left him the seat next to Hermione.

Hermione’s hair was still wet and tied back in a ponytail, but he could spot where the first strands were about to escape. She had changed into a white T-shirt, black capris and trainers - like a tourist on a trip. And he could see that parts of her neck were sunburned.

She looked great.

“Hey,” he said in a low voice. 

“Finally dragged yourself out of the shower?” she asked with a grin.

He sighed, though he was smiling. “I see you’ve been listening to Ginny.”

“Yes.” She glanced forward. At Ginny, but also at Luna, Ron assumed.

Of course she would have realised the same thing he had - their counterparts were her best friends. And she had gone through the same, Ron was certain, when she had fought her first battle. Which, he reminded himself, had come far earlier than theirs. “I feel like a new man,” he said.

“You look like a new man, too,” she replied. “I almost forgot what you looked like under that ‘camouflage’.”

“It was necessary,” he told her. “Like the disguises.”

She snorted in response. “He knew who you were,” she said with a nod towards the stretcher behind them, to which the still sedated Berisha was strapped. “And it won’t be hard to tie me to you.”

“You were in disguise as well,” he pointed out. “Technically, you still are in disguise.” At least her hair was dyed.

“Nothing that would fool a decent observer,” she replied. “And our group? Quite distinctive. I wonder whether Dumbledore planned for this to happen.”

“We can’t assume everything that happens is according to one of his or Gellert’s plans,” Ron said. That would lead to paranoia.

She made a noncommittal noise. Not convinced, then. Ah, well - it certainly was more prudent to err on the side of caution when it came to those two old men.

A few moments passed without either of them saying anything. Then the plane started to taxi out of the hangar. A little late by his estimate.

That was the only delay, though - they went straight on to the runway and then on into the air. A few minutes later, they were almost at their travelling altitude. At least according to their pilot.

“So…” He trailed off. The middle of a plane wasn’t exactly the best place to talk about whatever the two of them had. If they had anything. But the lab wouldn’t be any better.

“Yes?”

What could he say? His prepared speech suddenly felt stilted and stupid. “I’ve been in some sticky situations with Harry, but I never wanted to kiss him,” he blurted out.

She chuckled, apparently surprised by his comment. “I didn’t think you would have.” And now she was being evasive.

He wet his lips, then went on: “We kissed.” 

“Yes.” She seemed guarded now. Almost wary.

“It wasn’t just a reaction to the danger.” He looked at her. Daring her to contradict him.

“You already said that,” she replied, meeting his eyes.

“Yes.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds. He wouldn’t drop this. They had something - and he needed to know what it was. Needed to know what she was thinking. And feeling. Needed to know… 

He jerked at the sudden exclamation.

“Oh, for the love of God! Just kiss each other, you idiots!”

Ginny definitely wasn’t helping.

*****

**Perth Airport, Scotland, Britain, August 2nd, 2005**

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes.” Ron rolled his eyes at Ginny’s words as they gathered their luggage from the back of the plane while the others took Berisha to the waiting transport.

“I’m really sorry. But you were acting like a teenager. Both of you.”

He took a deep breath and refrained from snapping at her. “We’re not acting like teenagers.” If they were, they probably would have snogged for the whole flight instead of sleeping. “Things are complicated.”

“Are you still worried that she’s pining for the other Ron? She kissed you!”

“That doesn’t have to mean anything. We were under a lot of stress.”

“Oh, you…” She shook her head. “I’ll talk to her.”

“No!” He reached out and grabbed her shoulder. She whirled and glared at him, and he released her at once. “Sorry.” Ginny huffed. “But, please, don’t meddle. We’re not teenagers any more.”

“Then don’t act like a stammering boy!” she retorted.

He clamped down on his temper again. “Ginny, look, we just survived an ambush and a manhunt. We need to… to decompress and rest and recover before we deal with this.”

“Oh.” She started to nod, then suddenly frowned. “That’s aimed at me, isn’t it? I’m fine.”

She huffed again and picked up her bags, then left the plane.

Ron sighed. Ginny wasn’t fine. He could tell. But she wouldn’t listen to him. Too stubborn, too proud.

He needed to talk to Harry about this. And to the others.

He sighed as he carried the rest of their luggage out of the plane.

What a mess.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, August 3rd, 2005**

Filch was waiting for them in the garage when they returned to the laboratory. Ron had expected that, but it was good to have confirmation. Filch was one of Dumbledore’s most trusted employees if he was not only in charge of guarding Hermione’s lab but also among those who knew about Berisha. 

Though if Filch was a mole, then this would be the perfect opportunity for him to silence Berisha. Not with just two men at his side, though. And Ron would bet that at least one of the men was keeping an eye on Filch for Dumbledore. The old man was an experienced spymaster, after all.

“Hello, my good man!” Sirius greeted Filch with a wide smile. “The luggage is inside; please don’t drop it - parts of it are fragile.”

Filch glared but didn’t acknowledge the barb in any other way - was that a sign that Dumbledore was already running a mole hunt and Filch had to be on his best behaviour?

The two men moved to get Berisha’s stretcher out of the second car while Filch looked on.

“I think I’ll tag along,” Sirius went on. “I could use some medical attention for my wounds. Did you hire a cute nurse while we were away?”

Filch slowly turned to face Sirius. “No,” he said.

“What a pity.”

“Sirius…” Harry sighed.

“Hey, I’m wounded - I need all the distractions I can get, due to the pain I’m in!”

“You _are_ a pain,” Hermione retorted.

“Oh, shot to the heart!” Sirius put a hand on his chest.

“No, in the arm,” Harry said.

Ron glanced at Ginny and Luna; they were smiling at Sirius’s antics, but it seemed a little subdued. He really had to talk to Harry.

But that could wait until later - it was early morning and while he had slept in the jet and in the car on the drive here, he was still tired. A few hours in a real bed would be great.

*****

Dumbledore arrived hours later, during their late lunch. The old man looked as dapper as always. “Ah, I’m a little early, I see. Please forgive me for disturbing your meal,” he said with his usual smile.

Ron didn’t believe for a second that Dumbledore hadn’t been aware of the fact that they were currently eating.

“Would you like some?” Luna replied. “There’s enough, and the filet mignon is delicious.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said. “I only had a sandwich on the way here - I had to deal with a few enquiries from NATO about an incident in Kosovo.”

“Enquiries to whom?” Harry asked. “Have they tied you to the events?”

“Oh, no, rest assured that particular secret hasn’t been spilt,” Dumbledore told them. “But I decided to get involved personally. Some things are best solved with a little bribery and diplomacy.”

“Because you haven’t found the mole who betrayed us yet,” Harry said, looking at him.

“If, of course, there is a mole.” Dumbledore inclined his head as one of his men set down a plate for him. “I do hope that the guest you brought with you will be able to shed some light on this situation.”

“And when will that happen?” Ron asked.

“In the evening, provided our guest recovers from being sedated on schedule. His condition isn’t the best.”

Ah. “That was the fault of his own men,” Harry was quick to point out.

“And his betrayal,” Luna added. “He wouldn’t have been thrown around in the car if we hadn’t been forced to capture him.”

Dumbledore chuckled at that. “A pragmatic view. Though next time you kidnap someone, I would suggest securing them better.” He glanced at Hermione. “And, perhaps, reduce the risk to your friends.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “Our plan worked perfectly. It was pure bad luck - a golden bullet, I think, is the term - that caused our unforeseen problems.”

“Such things can be anticipated.”

“That’s why you had people in the area,” Ron pointed out.

“What exactly happened?” Dumbledore asked.

“A shot hit the rear door just right so it swung open - right when we were climbing a slope. We fell out, and they couldn’t stop,” Ron said. “Fortunately, we fell into some bushes, so our pursuers didn’t spot us as they drove past.” It was the truth - from a certain point of view.

“Ah.” Dumbledore finished his filet. “Should we be glad that our guest didn’t fall out of the car as well?”

“More or less,” Ron said, ignoring Harry’s scowl. And Ginny’s glare at the implied criticism of her driving. “In any case, we achieved our objective without losing anyone.”

“Let’s hope your luck holds. And that our guest will share his information.” Dumbledore rubbed his chin. “He will be aware that, should he betray his partners, he’ll become a liability. I think he will prove to be rather stubborn - and, contrary to the claims of my American colleagues, torture generally isn’t very useful in such a situation. Even if it works, it usually takes quite some time to produce results, which then have to be verified through various means before they can be deemed actionable intelligence.”

Hermione spoke before Ron could stop her. “There won’t be any torture. I can make him talk easily.”

“Oh? That is convenient, indeed.”

Ron was certain that Dumbledore wasn’t in the least surprised.

*****

“Hermione.” He caught her before she went to her lab. Now that he thought of it, it had been a small miracle that she hadn’t gone straight there upon arriving in the morning. Or a sign of how exhausted she was.

“Yes?” She turned her head, lifting her chin slightly. She probably knew what this was about.

“About the serum…” He couldn’t talk about magic in here.

“It’s a truth serum. Non-reproducible with the resources available here,” she replied, narrowing her eyes a little. “It’s the best solution in our situation.”

She was being a little too defensive, in his opinion. “Very few people can actually keep silent when being interrogated,” he said. “Sooner or later, they start talking.” He had experience in interrogating suspects, after all. And without using torture.

“And lying,” she replied.

“It’s harder to keep lies consistent than people think. Especially if statements can be verified with other sources.” And Dumbledore would be aware of that.

“But Berisha will be aware that as soon as he talks, he becomes a liability to his partner or contact.” She stared directly at him.

Or to Dumbledore, Ron added to himself.

“The serum is the easiest way to get information,” she said. “And the most dependable.”

Did she think Ron was annoyed at not getting to run the interrogation? He shook his head. “He’ll want to analyse it.”

“He can make an attempt, but duplicating it requires technology that we lack.”

But it would still provide Dumbledore and Grindelwald with more information. As Ron had just said: It was hard to keep your lies consistent. Especially if there was more information available.

But they couldn’t do anything about that any more. Not with regards to the Veritaserum, at least.

*****

Even strapped to a metal chair, Berisha looked better than he had while being transported here. That didn’t mean he looked well, of course. His gunshot wounds had been dressed, but without the bandages and wearing only underwear, his numerous bruises were clearly visible.

“He looks as if someone worked him over,” Harry commented.

“We’ve got bruises as well,” Ron replied, refraining from rubbing one of his.

“That argument never worked with Bones,” his friend said.

Bones had been a little prejudiced, of course. Moody had been their mentor, but that didn’t mean that they had adopted everything he had taught them. Like the ‘old school’ view on interrogating suspects. Not that it was currently very old school, what with the Americans calling torture ‘enhanced interrogation’. And not to mention that the way this interrogation room had been set up also made it seem that this wasn’t the first time Dumbledore’s men had done this.

“You have the serum?” Dumbledore asked, sounding as if he were asking about the weather.

“Yes.” Hermione pulled out a small pipette. “It’s administered orally, so someone needs to hold his mouth open.” She seemed entirely unaffected by the whole room. 

Ron reminded himself that Hermione had done this before as well.

Dumbledore glanced at him and Harry. “If you would be so kind?”

Ron nodded. It wasn’t as if they had a choice - apart from them, Dumbledore and Berisha, no one else was present. So he stepped up to Berisha, from an angle that wouldn’t let the man spit at him.

“I won’t talk,” the man hissed instead. “You might as well kill me now.”

Ron didn’t reply. He merely grabbed Berisha’s head and pulled it back, then forced his mouth open. The warlord tried to struggle, but he was tied up tightly, so nothing came of it.

Hermione stepped up, pipette in hand. A few seconds later, three drops fell into the man’s mouth.

And Ron felt the man’s struggles cease. He shivered a little as he let go of Berisha’s head and stepped back. It wasn’t a dark curse, not like the Imperius Curse Hermione had mentioned, but it was still mind-control, as far as he was concerned.

“It takes effect remarkably quickly,” Dumbledore said.

“It’s very effective,” Hermione replied. 

“How long does it last?”

“It varies, but usually about an hour,” she said. “You’ll notice when they start to recover - their eyes begin to focus again.” She turned back to Berisha. “What’s your name?”

“Burim Berisha,” droned the drugged man.

“He’s all yours,” she said, nodding at Ron.

Perhaps she really thought he had been annoyed at not being allowed to interrogate Berisha without Dumbledore.

Ron forced the thought away. He had a criminal to interrogate. And he’d do it by the book.

“Do you know who hired your cousin Avni Berisha for the mission during which Avni was killed?”

“Yes.”

Ah. Ron should have anticipated that. “Who hired Avni?”

“Anatole Sokolov.”

“A Russian ‘businessman’ who works as a middleman for various people,” Dumbledore said. “He often acts as the go-between when families are negotiating with kidnappers. He’s been suspected to be a little too close to the kidnappers, but nothing has ever been proven. Presumably a former KGB member, but not a high-ranking one according to my information.” Which came straight from MI6.

“Who told you that we might be visiting to ask after Avni’s employer?” Ron asked.

“Anatole Sokolov.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“No.”

“Do you know how he can be contacted?”

“Yes.”

“How can he be contacted?”

“Call a phone number.”

One that might have been abandoned as soon as Sokolov had heard about Berisha’s abduction. Ah, well - Ron hadn’t really expected this to be easy.

“What business did you have with Sokolov?” He continued the interrogation. Every little bit of information could be crucial, after all. Every little bit except certain details about their escape.

*****

An hour later, the Veritaserum’s effect was starting to fade. Ron watched as Berisha blinked more and more, until his slack jaw suddenly snapped up, and his eyes widened. “You… you…” A tirade of curses - or so Ron assumed - in Albanian followed.

Of course, realising that you had spilt everything about your criminal enterprise in an interrogation because of a truth drug would have such an effect on anyone.

“You really shouldn’t have tried to ambush us,” Harry told him.

More profanity followed. Berisha pulled on his bindings again, but they held.

“Quite enlightening,” Dumbledore commented. “He recalls the interrogation?”

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed. “Memory isn’t affected by the serum. If someone has forgotten something, they won’t recall it under the serum’s influence. It’s not a fool-proof method of solving a case, and it cannot be used to treat memory loss, either.”

“I see.”

“Dumbledore!” Berisha spat. Of course a warlord would recognise one of the two owners of the Phoenix Gruppe.

“In the flesh,” the old man replied with a nod that managed to be both polite and mocking, in Ron’s opinion.

“You’re behind this!”

“I’m merely lending a hand to a few young people in a sticky situation, Mr Berisha.” That annoying smile appeared. “I’m hardly the mastermind behind your abduction.”

“We didn’t want to abduct you in the first place,” Hermione added. “But you just had to attempt to betray us. None of this would have happened if you had been honest.”

“Honest? With the murderers of my cousin?” Berisha spat in their direction.

“He attacked us. You cannot blame us for defending ourselves!” she retorted.

Although it was obvious that Berisha could and did. “Hakmarrja.”

“You’re declaring a blood feud?” Hermione shook her head.

“You’re familiar with the Kanun?” Dumbledore asked.

“I had a reason to research Albania,” Hermione replied. “Though there are some differences, the core of the customs and traditions transcribed there are the same.”

“You’ll pay for this! You and your entire family!” Berisha yelled.

“I don’t suppose you have a way to wipe his memories, Doctor?”

Ron felt a chilling sensation at hearing Dumbledore’s casual, pleasant tone. He knew what the man was insinuating. So did Hermione, judging by her expression.

“No, I do not,” she said.

“A pity.” Dumbledore sighed. It almost sounded like honest regret. “He’s a security risk.”

Another way of saying that Berisha knew too much. Ron pressed his lips together. They were talking about murder, even if no one was mentioning it openly.

“What are you going to do?” Unless Hermione forced the issue, of course.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at her. “You’ve dealt with such a situation before, I think.”

“The circumstances were different,” she replied - and confirmed the old man’s guess. 

“Were they?” He tilted his head. “You’ve heard his confession. He has committed dozens of terrible crimes. If Britain still had the death penalty, he would have earned it many times over.”

“You could imprison him. Until there are other options available,” she told him.

“Other options such as...? Perhaps a way to wipe his memories?” Dumbledore had planned this, Ron was certain.

“Yes,” Hermione admitted with a frown.

“Then we shall incarcerate him until such measures are available,” Dumbledore said with a faint smile.

And the old man would be preparing for such measures being used against him, as well.

Fantastic. At least they had managed to keep Berisha from detailing his experience with the Shrinking Solution.

“May I have a small sample of the serum for analysis?” Dumbledore asked.

“You may,” Hermione told him. “Although I don’t think you’ll be able to duplicate it. We had to acquire it from specialists.”

“Even a partial analysis might offer us insight into new technology.”

Since it was a magic potion, Ron doubted that. But he kept quiet and his face impassive. Dumbledore had, once again, managed to find out more than they had wanted to let him know. No need to make matters even worse.

“I’ll have my men investigate Sokolov,” Dumbledore announced after two guards had dragged the bound Berisha out - presumably to be locked up in a cell somewhere. “It might take a few days to get any results, though. My files aren’t as up to date as I was used to in the SIS.”

“Ah.” Ron didn’t quite believe Dumbledore - his files on his competition in the weapons market were probably up to date.

“Unfortunately, we still haven’t found the leak of which Berisha took advantage, so further secrecy is needed, which will also cause delays,” the old man went on. 

“And we can’t really plan anything until we know more,” Harry said.

“Quite.”

Ron sighed. He knew, intellectually, that he couldn’t do much - not in Eastern Europe, where he didn’t speak the language. And, after Berisha’s ambush, it would be foolish to go off on his own. But he still wanted to do something. Anything but waiting.

“Well, I’m going for a short walk to clear my head,” Hermione announced.

“Me too,” Ron said at once. She needed a bodyguard, after all.

He ignored Dumbledore’s smile as well as Harry’s grin. But he did notice Hermione’s smile.

*****

The outside air felt nice after spending an hour in an interrogation - and possibly torture - room. He took a deep breath, then turned to Hermione. “Do you have a route in mind?”

He saw her glance towards the ruins nearby, then shake her head. “Just along the shore.” 

He nodded. That would make it harder to get lost.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, then cut into the woods. Just in case the shore was bugged. Night had fallen, but it wasn’t too dark. Not yet.

“Do you think I should have let them kill Berisha?” she asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

He took a deep breath. He hadn’t expected that question. “No,” he replied, shaking his head.

“Because it would have been murder?”

“You wouldn’t have murdered him,” he told her. “But Dumbledore would have tried to make you feel responsible.” It was an old trick to gain leverage on people.

“He was counting on me intervening.” She sighed. “But I had to do something.” She turned away, looking into the dark forest around them. “We killed prisoners in the war.”

“I know.”

She went on as if he hadn’t said anything. “But we didn’t have the resources or manpower to keep them prisoners. And we couldn’t risk the Dark Lord tracking them - and us with them - through their Dark Marks.”

“As long as we don’t know who’s a traitor in Dumbledore’s organisation, Berisha is a risk,” he pointed out. “He does know too much.”

She turned back to face him, though it was becoming hard to make out her expression in the fading light. “At least Dumbledore might assume that we don’t have anything to hide in that regard since we didn’t want Berisha killed to silence him.”

He tilted his head, not quite shrugging. He didn’t think Dumbledore would be so easily fooled.

“We should have sedated Berisha before shrinking him,” she said after a moment. Clearly, she blamed herself for that oversight.

“That might have killed him in his condition,” he pointed out. “And then we wouldn’t have gained any information.”

“Perhaps any claims of being shrunk or carried by giants will be dismissed as hallucinations.”

He didn’t think so but didn’t say that. It was possible, at least. “I don’t think he’ll believe that there’s a Shrinking Solution.” But folding space hangars? That wasn’t too far-fetched. Not when dimensional travel and bags of holding were on the table. And Ron was certain that Dumbledore at the very least suspected Hermione’s beaded bag of offering such options.

So did she, it seemed - she didn’t look or sound reassured. “It’s my fault. I should’ve been better prepared.”

“It’s not your fault. We suffered some bad luck, that’s all.” He shrugged, then pulled out a flashlight. It had become too dark to safely walk through the woods.

“I should have thought of this,” she went on as if he hadn’t said anything. “And I should have been prepared for Dumbledore’s manipulations.”

“He’s got a lot more experience, and he’s not the Dumbledore you knew.” He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. She tensed - he could feel it - then seemed to relax.

“I keep telling myself that.”

She wasn’t only talking about Dumbledore, he realised. “I’m not him.”

“No, you aren’t,” she replied in an odd, hesitant voice, staring at him.

He wanted to ask if she had mixed up him and the other Ron. But what if she confirmed that? He moved a half-step forward, towards her. Close enough to embrace her easily. Close enough to kiss her.

He leaned forward, and she tilted her head back.

Their lips touched.

It wasn’t like their kisses before. He wasn’t reeling from an adrenaline rush. He hadn’t just escaped death and felt so alive that he just had to kiss her. This was a different feeling. A very different feeling.

She pressed herself against him. He felt the warmth, the heat from her body. Heard her moan softly. 

He wrapped his arms around her. Ran his hands over her back, dug his fingers into her hair. 

Damn.

Ron drew a shuddering breath after breaking the kiss and pulling back. And pulling his hands out from under Hermione’s sweater. “Oh.”

“Oh,” she echoed him. 

He couldn’t see her face - the flashlight was on the ground, illuminating a nearby tree, and he could barely see her at all.

“I’m…” he started, then broke off. “That was different,” he said after a moment.

She didn’t reply for a second. What was she thinking? Feeling. “Yes,” she finally replied. 

He wanted to kiss her again. Hold her again. But he couldn’t see her expression. He didn’t know what she was thinking. What she wanted. “Uh…”

She moved, and before he could react, she was kissing him. And her hands were gripping his head. 

He heard her moan. He was moaning, too. Panting. When she pulled back and broke the kiss, he suddenly realised that they were on the ground. And that she was straddling his lap.

This time, he didn’t pull his hands back.

Then things started to get hazy.

*****

_Ron was staring at her. She knew it. And she also knew that as soon as she turned her head, he’d look away. Or find something to do in the tent._

_And, from behind him, she’d watch him, watch his body, move._

_They had done this dance often enough. It was stupid. Very stupid. Childish, too. And they weren’t children any more. Not even by law. They were fighting a bloody war. They were Wizarding Britain’s most wanted people and risked death every day._

_And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to... talk to him. What if she was seeing things? What if she was misinterpreting his actions? What if she wasn’t, but they ruined it? Whatever it was. And what would Harry think if they started something? He didn’t see Ginny very often._

_She frowned. That was unfair. Harry was in a relationship. They could enter a relationship as well, couldn’t they? Couldn’t she?_

_If she dared. If things went wrong, all their plans could be put in jeopardy. If they had a falling out in the middle of the war…_

_She glanced at Ron._

_And he looked away._

*****


	19. The Aftermath

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, August 3rd, 2005**

Ron stared at the night sky. The trees hid most of it, but he could see a slice of it - there were a few stars visible through the branches. His backside hurt a little - he must have ground some small rocks into it. His chest hurt a little as well - he was bound to have some scratches there. And his right side was feeling a little cold, being completely exposed.

But, damn, he didn’t mind. He felt great. That had been… He sighed and closed his eyes. Not that he could see much, anyway. His flashlight must have been pushed away at some point. But he could feel Hermione’s body pressed against his side, draped half across his chest, and her hair brushing over his skin whenever one of them shifted their weight a little. He could smell her, too. Just like before.

It hadn’t been like in his dreams. They hadn’t been in a bed, or in the shower. Or on the hood of a car. It had been rushed, not paced. And in near absolute darkness, instead of in dim light. And they had fumbled around a lot.

But, hell, it had been great. He sighed again, wishing they could just stay like this.

But they couldn’t. It was getting a little chilly - this was Scotland, after all. Even in summer. And if they didn’t return soon, someone would start a search for them. And Ron didn’t know what would be worse - Dumbledore’s men or their friends stumbling upon them while they were like this.

“Uh…” he said. 

He heard her sigh. “We should return.”

He nodded. “Yes.” He looked around. “Ah. Did you notice where my flashlight went?”

“No,” she replied. “But let me… Accio flashlight!”

Five seconds later, he saw a cone of light appear out of a bush before the flashlight dropped down next to them and he could feel and hear her taking a few deep breaths.

“That’s handy,” he commented, picking it up with his free hand.

“It has its uses,” she replied. “But generally, wandless magic is a parlour trick - something you do to show off and impress your friends.”

“Ah.” He could think of at least one important use - reacquiring your wand after you lost it - but this wasn’t the time to pry or discuss tactics. He moved the flashlight, illuminating the area around them. He didn’t remember throwing his clothes away, but… he hadn’t actually been paying attention to much of anything apart from her.

She sighed once more, then rolled off him and got up. He sat up and pointed the flashlight at the ground so she could see what she was doing without being put under a literal spotlight.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he replied, then winced. That was an unintended double entendre, given their situation. Stupid.

She didn’t seem to mind, though. At least he thought her cursing was aimed at the state of her clothes and not at him.

“We could claim we stumbled and fell?” he asked, adding a forced laugh.

“You think being thought clumsy would be less embarrassing than randy?” she replied, and, even without seeing her face, he knew that she was raising her eyebrows in that particular way she had.

“I prefer ‘passionate’,” he said. “This wasn’t just some urge, some itch that needed scratching,” he added in a more serious tone. As serious as you could be while pulling up your pants and trousers without taking half of the forest’s floor with you.

“We were - and still are - under a lot of stress,” she pointed out as they both started to stand up.

He wasn’t going to let her do this. “I’ve been dreaming about you for weeks,” he told her.

“Oh.”

“This isn’t just some form of stress relief,” Ron insisted. Not for him. And not for her. Or she wouldn’t have asked about his past lovers.

“But what if I’m just trying to replace my Ron?”

He really hated hearing ‘my Ron’ from her. But she hadn’t denied that this was more than some casual fling. “I’m not him,” he said. “I’m no wizard. I was raised differently. I had a different life.”

“And yet, you’re so much like him.”

“It’s been seven years,” he replied. The other Ron would have changed. Would have moved on.

“I haven’t had a relationship since I arrived here.”

“You were focused on going back. And you didn’t want to develop ties, did you?”

He was tempted to lift the flashlight. To see her face. This wasn’t a discussion that they should have in the dark.

“And yet, I did,” she replied, followed by a sound that was as much a sob as it was a sigh.

“Yes,” he said, reaching out to embrace her again.

She let him.

They took their time walking back to the laboratory - even with the flashlight, it was hard to walk through the woods without stumbling over roots or rocks. Claiming they had fallen down in the forest really wouldn’t be too far-fetched, Ron thought. But it wouldn’t fool Harry. Probably not Ginny, either. 

Not that he regretted it. Quite the contrary. Some teasing and snarking won’t change that. He helped Hermione over a fallen log. Had they passed it on the way? He didn’t think so. But all they had to do was to head to the shore, then follow it back to the laboratory. And they couldn’t miss the lake - he remembered that much of the geography, at least. He chuckled at his own thoughts, then blinked.

“If you can, let Dumbledore believe that memory modification requires a lot of resources. A large device and a great deal of computing capacity, for example,” he said.

“Oh?” Hermione replied. “Good idea. If he thought that there were nanomachines travelling to the brain through someone’s blood, he’d expect to get samples.” She sighed. “But he’ll find out the truth sooner or later - I need to do a ritual to activate the portal.”

They should still be far enough away from the laboratory to be safe from being overheard. “How long does that take? The ritual, I mean.”

“An hour at least,” she told him. “Perhaps longer - I haven’t refined it, yet, and there’s a certain amount of guesswork involved.”

That didn’t sound too promising. “As long as you don’t connect to the wrong dimension…” he said, only half-jokingly.

“Oh, that won’t happen. I’ll serve as the link, so to speak.”

“Ah.” He was both relieved and disappointed. If she couldn’t find her home dimension, she’d stay with him, after all. Though Dumbledore and Grindelwald wouldn’t be happy in that case. “Good,” he added.

If she’d noticed his hesitation, she didn’t say anything. And she didn’t let go of his hand when they reached the rough path at the shore and took a short break to watch the lake. 

So close to the new moon, it was almost pitch black, with just the stars reflected in the water. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered.

Hermione made a sound he took as agreement and leaned into him a little.

“Did you come out here to watch the lake when you were at school?”

She snorted. “There was a curfew, you know. Like in any boarding school.”

“Well, there was one at my own school, but that didn’t keep us from going out at night,” he replied. The things he and Harry had gotten up to at school…

“When we left the dorms at night, it was usually because there was a crisis to deal with,” she said.

Oh. He had stepped in it again. “Ah.”

“Don’t get me wrong - I loved my time here. At the school, I mean. But I never really sneaked out after curfew for fun.” She snorted. “Well, I wouldn’t have done that anyway - I wasn’t that sort of girl.”

“‘That sort of girl’?” What did she mean?

“The rules-breaking and pranking kind,” she explained. “Well, I broke the rules, but I always had a good reason.”

“Ah.” He nodded and, after a moment, added: “It was the same for us, but our teachers never agreed.”

She laughed at that, and he smiled, relieved. “It _is_ beautiful,” she said.

He knew better than to say ‘so are you’ - far too corny. 

But he thought it as he kissed her again.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, August 4th, 2005**

_He felt her weight, he felt her, on top of him. He heard her moan as he panted, hands touching her, and…_

Ron woke up, blinking as he realised that he’d had another dream. A different dream. More like… well, more real. Or was that realistic? It wasn’t his imagination any more. Well, not just his imagination any more - it had been dark last night, unlike in his dream.

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, remembering last night. And his dream. If he hadn’t gone to his room upon returning to the lab… If their good night kiss at the door had happened in her room…

He sighed. He didn’t regret anything - apart, perhaps, from not asking to spend the night with her - but did Hermione share his feelings? Was she still pining for the other Ron? After seven years? Anyone would have moved on, wouldn’t they? Even wizards. 

But then, Hermione hadn’t had a relationship in this world. Until, or so Ron hoped, him. And the way she had focused - fixated - on returning to her home, moving on probably would have felt like betraying her goals. Like she was losing faith in her work.

Though if that was true, then did she still think that? Feel like that?

And, even more importantly: What would she do if she managed to return to her home world? Would she stay? 

And what would he do?

By the time Ron was ready for breakfast, he still hadn’t found any answers.

What he did find, though, was a smirking Ginny, Harry and Sirius. And a smiling Luna.

“You were out pretty late last night,” Harry said.

“Don’t tell me you spent half the night waiting anxiously for our return,” Ron replied as he took a seat. 

Harry scoffed - of course Ron’s friend would have kept an eye out for him. Just like Ron would have done in his place.

“We can multitask, duh,” Ginny added.

“I rigged a sensor to alert me,” Luna said. “I was busy checking the net anyway - some time zones are rather impractical for keeping in contact with others around the world.”

“I was merely resting so my wounds will heal,” Sirius told him. “But… I don’t suppose you decided to have a night march to work off some ‘nervous energy’, did you?”

Sirius’s jokes needed work. Ron filled his cup with tea, then grabbed a slice of toast. “We had a private walk and a private talk on the shore.”

He heard Hermione enter the lounge ad turned to smile at her. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Her own smile faded once she took in the others. “Oh.”

“Don’t worry, we’re happy for you two,” Ginny said. Luna nodded.

Ron rolled his eyes. As if Ginny wasn’t itching to hear all the sordid details her imagination craved. Although, in this case, perhaps her imagination wasn’t too far off. “We don’t bug you about your relationship,” he said with a glare. “So I expect you to reciprocate.” He pulled out a chair for Hermione, then sat down again.

“Of course,” Luna said, Ginny nodding in agreement after a noticeable pause.

“You can bug me about my relationships whenever you want!” Sirius declared with a wide grin.

“I’ll remember that next time you bring a date home,” Harry cut in.

Sirius waved the threat away. “I think Ginny would have words with you if you wasted a free evening bothering one of my dates.”

“I think we have more important things to discuss than relationships,” Hermione said before taking a sip from her cup. “Like the repercussions of the events in Albania.” Ron caught Ginny’s smile slipping a little as Hermione went on: “Unless I’m mistaken, for you two, this was the first time you were in a real battle, wasn’t it?”

Ginny frowned but, to Ron’s slight surprise, didn’t bring up the brawl in which she once had been involved. “We managed.”

“That’s what you think. Trust me, you’d be exceptional if you could shrug off combat like that,” Sirius said. “A number of my friends and acquaintances never got over their experiences in the war.”

“It was frightening,” Luna admitted in a small voice. “But mostly in hindsight.”

“That’s normal as well,” Sirius told her. “Even officers sometimes can’t handle their memories.”

“Yes,” Harry said. “That’s why there are psychologists working with the police.”

“You’ve always complained about them,” Ginny pointed out.

“Well… only when they didn’t leave me alone. But they can help,” Harry replied.

If this weren’t really important, Ron would have been amused at the exchange.

“We can’t exactly talk to a therapist about what we did,” Ginny said. “My agent would kill me if someone spread the story of me being involved in a shoot-out with a warlord’s army. And Mum would be worse!” Ron blinked and was about to question her priorities when she added: “Not to mention that we can’t have anyone hear about Hermione’s secret and Dumbledore’s involvement.”

She was grinning, but Ron knew his sister - she wasn’t quite as nonchalant as she tried to appear. He glanced at Harry, who seemed to have noticed it as well. Ginny had good reason to be wary, of course - thanks to his and Harry’s position in CI5, they knew about Operation Motorman and Operation Glade. To think the tabloids would go as far as to hack the phones of celebrities… No, they couldn’t trust a therapist not to betray them, even if unintentionally, and even if they didn’t tell them about magic. Not with several famous people involved and after the assassinations and shoot-outs in the middle of London. “Dumbledore might have a vetted therapist.” he said.

“You mean he’ll have a spy who’ll try to find out our secrets,” Luna retorted.

“If we have to lie to the therapist, then that defeats the purpose of talking to them in the first place,” Ginny said.

“Talking about it does help, though. Even if you’re not entirely honest,” Sirius interjected, with Hermione nodding in agreement. “If you don’t want to talk to a therapist, talk to a friend.”

Both Ginny and Luna turned to look at Hermione - who blinked, obviously surprised.

Ron managed not to smile at her reaction. 

Sirius laughed.

*****

“So… Hermione’s going to play therapist,” Harry said as they warmed up outside for their morning run.

“Well, she didn’t refuse their request,” Ron replied. “And she did go through the same experience,” he added, a little annoyed by his friend’s wording. “Only worse.” Much worse.

“But will that be enough to help them?”

Ron shrugged, glancing around to check if the others had already arrived. “What’s the alternative? Sirius?” And even if they found a trustworthy and discreet therapist, they wouldn’t be able to visit regularly.

Now Harry looked annoyed. “You and me,” he said.

“You’re Ginny’s boyfriend, not her therapist.” And Ginny wouldn’t want the two roles to mix, Ron knew. She wanted to be Harry’s girlfriend and wife - not his dependent. “And Luna…” He shrugged. Luna liked Harry, but she wasn’t really close to him. And Harry wasn’t close enough to her to be trusted with this, yet he was too close to Ron to be trusted with this.

Harry grunted.

“Ginny’ll talk to you anyway,” Ron added. “Once she’s feeling better about it.” Less insecure, at least.

“We’ll see,” his friend replied. “Here they come.”

And that ended the conversation.

*****

Of course, as Ron found out in the evening, there was a significant drawback to Ginny and Luna talking to Hermione about their experiences: It meant less time spent with others. Such as Ron. And that just when they needed to talk about their relationship.

He sighed as he leaned against the wall next to her door. “The things I do for family…”

“Stop moping, Ron!” Sirius yelled from the lounge. “Come join us here!”

Well, he didn’t have to stand guard outside Hermione’s room. Not with the door visible from the lounge if he picked the right seat. So he went and joined them.

“It’ll be like old times!” Sirius exclaimed, pushing a beer bottle towards Ron as soon as he reached the table. “Just us men!”

“That’s what you usually say when you can’t get a date,” Harry said with a grin. 

“Which almost never happens,” Sirius shot back. “As an officer and gentleman, I’m popular with the fairer sex.”

“You forgot ‘rich’,” Ron told him as he opened the bottle.

“Pff!” Sirius shook his head. “I’d say you’re just jealous, but seeing how you spent the night…” He held up his own bottle. “Cheers!”

“Cheers.” Ron took a sip himself. It wasn’t his favourite brand, but it was decent enough. “Did you get that from the kitchen?” He would have expected Dumbledore to provide a more expensive beer for them.

“From the guards,” Sirius replied. “We swapped some war stories.”

“Ah.” Ron nodded. That explained the brand.

“ _I_ can’t just stare at my girlfriend all day,” Sirius went on.

“We’re guarding them,” Harry said with a frown.

“That’s what people call it these days?” Sirius chuckled. He’s probably had a few beers with said guards already, Ron thought. “Anyway,” the older man went on, “a good time was had. Phoenix Gruppe has hired some quite quality folks. With a few exceptions, of course.”

“Great.” Harry didn’t sound very impressed, even though befriending the guards could pay off in a number of ways. Provided Sirius hadn’t antagonised them instead - he tended to overestimate his charm at times.

Sirius seemed to ignore Harry’s reaction, though, as he downed the rest of his beer. “So, how are you two doing?”

“Fine,” Harry said.

Ron shrugged.

“That doesn’t sound very convincing,” Sirius told them. “You know, you can talk to me. Even about more serious problems than unrequited love.”

Neither Harry nor Ron took the bait. They had been fourteen and dumb at the time. Dumb enough to ask Sirius for advice about asking out girls. 

“I just want to find whoever started all of this and stop them,” Ron said. Permanently, preferably. And sort out his relationship with Hermione.

“Well, we’ll have to wait for Dumbledore to find another lead,” Sirius said, shrugging. “We can’t run off without actionable intel. Well, we could run off, but it wouldn’t be smart,” he added with a wide grin that vanished at once. “But, seriously, are you alright? The girls aren’t here; you don’t have to act tough.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said. “It wasn’t our first battle.”

“Yes,” Ron agreed. If he was going to break from killing people who wanted to kill him, he’d have done so long ago.

Sirius didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t pry.

*****

It was close to midnight when Ginny and Luna left Hermione’s room. “Harry?” Ginny asked as she entered the lounge.

“If he hasn’t fallen asleep, he’s waiting for you in your room,” Ron told her, getting up.

“He better not have!” Ginny said.

“I’m going to chat with a few friends,” Luna said. “They should be back from work or getting up now.”

“Goodnight.” Ron nodded at them on the way to Hermione’s room. He knocked, then waited.

“Come in.”

She was wearing her usual sleepwear - tank top and shorts - and was sitting on her bed with her legs crossed.

He closed the door behind him and went to sit down on the bed, which caused her to smile - though a little wryly. “How did the talk go?” he asked.

“As well as could be realistically expected, in my opinion.” She rolled her neck. “We talked about our experiences.”

Mostly hers, or so Ron assumed. He nodded.

“It’s helping, I think. I hope so at least, but I’m no therapist,” Hermione said with a shrug. “I think it hasn’t hit them yet. Not fully, at least. It took some time with me as well, after my first battle.”

“Was that the attack in the bathroom?” He couldn’t talk about trolls here.

She nodded slowly. “Yes. I had nightmares for weeks.”

“It was the same for me, the first time I shot a man,” he said. “And Harry…”

“He had it worse.” She sighed.

“Yes.” Ron hadn’t realised that for some time even after they had become friends. He’d been a dumb kid.

“What did you do while we talked?”

“Had a few beers with Sirius and Harry,” he replied. “Mostly talked about sports and stuff.” Until Sirius had retired to his room, quite drunk.

“Ah.”

A few seconds passed without either of them saying anything. “So…” Ron shifted his weight a little. “About us...”

The way she winced wasn’t a good sign, was it?

“I don’t think this is just some casual thing. Or just a reaction to danger,” he went on. They hadn’t fallen in bed with each other after the other attacks, after all.

“No, it isn’t,” she agreed. “But it’s a complicated issue.”

“Because of my counterpart.”

She frowned at that. “It’s not his fault.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he defended himself.

She pressed her lips together for a moment. “The fact that I’m in another world is at the core of this… issue.”

“And what is the issue?” he asked, leaning forward a little. “I’m not my counterpart. I’m a different man.” He wasn’t a wizard. He wasn’t a teenager. He hadn’t grown up with her.

“Yes, you aren’t him.” She shook her head. “But you’re very similar to him.”

At least she wasn’t calling his counterpart ‘my Ron’. “I don’t think appearances matter that much.”

She scoffed at that. “Appearances do matter, no matter how much we want to deny it.” She frowned, probably at her own wording. “Subconsciously, at the very least. But it goes deeper than that. Aren’t you concerned that I see you as a replacement for my Ron?”

He was more concerned that she’d leave him for his counterpart. “I don’t think you’d do that.”

He could see her bite her lower lip. “Why not? I didn’t break up with Ron, yet I did…” she trailed off.

“It’s been seven years,” he told her. “Do you think he’s still waiting for you?” He wasn’t going to ask if she thought that Ron’s counterpart was still alive. That would be going too far.

She flinched. “He might.”

“You don’t think so, though.”

“The circumstances of my dimensional travel wouldn’t have left him with much hope,” she said after a few seconds. “But it’s not the same for me. I don’t have that excuse.”

Was she serious? “I don’t think anyone would expect you to carry a torch for anyone for seven years. Certainly not in these circumstances,” he retorted. “Hell, most relationships don’t last that long.”

“I’m aware of that,” she snapped.

“You expect him to have moved on. And yet, you expect yourself to stay faithful?” He couldn’t keep a trace of bitterness out of his voice.

“I know it’s stupid,” she replied through clenched teeth. “But I can’t help it.”

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself.” He couldn’t let her stew about this.

She leaned back, wrapping her arms around herself. He reached out and touched her knee. She didn’t flinch at his touch, but she tensed.

“Are you concerned about betraying him, or are you afraid that what we have is not real? That it’ll fall apart if you see him again?” The expression on her face when she looked at him told him the answer. “I’m willing to take that risk,” he said. It wasn’t as if he had a choice, anyway - he couldn’t give her up.

She sniffled. It wasn’t quite a sob. He gathered her in his arms before she started to cry in earnest.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, August 5th, 2005**

Ron woke up with Hermione in his arms and her hair in his face. He gingerly moved his free arm - the other felt like pins and needles since it was trapped beneath her body - and brushed her mane away until he could check the alarm clock on the sideboard. Five minutes left.

He sighed and smiled. They hadn’t settled their issues, but they were together. More or less officially. Until Hermione managed to open a gate to her home world, at least, and they found out what had happened to her friends.

He wasn’t looking forward to that moment, for a number of reasons. A small, selfish and stupid part of him wouldn’t even mind if Hermione never managed to get back to her world. It would mean she would have to stay with him.

It would also mean that Dumbledore and Grindelwald would demand that she stopped wasting time and money, and started to teach them her ‘technology’. Which she wouldn’t be able to do. And that would cause all sorts of trouble.

He knew that very well, but sometimes, he thought he’d prefer that. If Hermione returned to her dimension and decided to stay there, with her friends, with _him_ …

He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to imagine that. His counterpart would’ve moved on. Would have found someone else. Or died fighting the Dark Lord.

That’s what Ron would have done. Probably. And he refused to think that his counterpart would be the better man.

His gloomy thoughts were interrupted when he felt her stir, then heard her moan in that cute, confused manner of hers as she shifted around with her head on his chest until she stiffened, realising that she was using him as a pillow.

“Good morning,” he whispered.

“Good morning,” she replied.

Then the alarm clock started ringing, and they had to get up.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, August 7th, 2005**

“Ah! The backup mainframe! Finally! I’ve been waiting for that for ages! Put it down in the other corner, next to the power lines! No, further back!”

Ron shook his head as Hermione ordered Dumbledore’s men around in her lab. She went from beaming at them to scowling within seconds. And probably didn’t notice the frowns sent her way in return as soon as she turned her back. Or if she did, she didn’t care - she was very, very focused on her work.

Not that it mattered much; Ron was certain that anyone working on this project was aware of how important it was for Dumbledore and Grindelwald, if not the exact reasons. And how stupid it would be to do anything to hinder Hermione’s research. He doubted that Grindelwald would hesitate to disappear any ‘saboteur’. Dumbledore would probably prefer to arrange an accident - perhaps even a non-fatal one.

He still kept an eye on the men, of course. Just because something was stupid didn’t mean it wouldn’t be done. If there was one thing you learned quickly as a police officer, it was that people were stupid.

But he didn’t spot any attempts at sabotage, and Hermione would be checking everything anyway.

Once they were gone and Hermione started installing her programs on the new mainframe, he relaxed. A little. 

Half an hour later, he saw Hermione push back from her desk and reach for the mini fridge mounted next to it. “Break time?” he asked.

She froze for a moment, then looked at him. “A short break.”

He walked over as she grabbed a can for him as well. “So, how’s your research going?”

“Oh, it’s going well. With the new computing resources, I should be able to cut down the time spent waiting on simulations by a significant amount!” With a frown, she added: “And they almost dropped it within the magnetic fields created by the cage when it’s under power.”

“Would that have damaged it?” He took the can from her and opened it.

“Probably destroyed it,” she replied, opening her own can with a scowl. “And anyone handling computers should be aware of that danger!”

“I don’t think they’re aware of your experiments,” he pointed out, leaning against her desk.

“Do they think the thick power cables are for show?” She shook her head, scoffing. “And what about the markings on the floor?”

“Probably not impressive enough,” he replied. “You might want to add skulls.”

“Then they wouldn’t…” she frowned as she trailed off. “Very funny.”

He chuckled and drank the rest of his drink.

She huffed and took another sip from her own. But he caught her smiling, a little. “Did you hear anything from Dumbledore?” she asked.after a moment.

He shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

“I would have expected results by now,” she said. “Since we have a name, and contact numbers.”

“A man in that business won’t be stupid. Or easily arrested,” he pointed out. Not that he expected to arrest the man.

“Well, I hope he gets results soon,” she said, putting down her can.

“I’d wager that so does he,” Ron replied.

But Hermione was already back at the keyboard - not quite lost to the world, but close.

And Ron went back to standing guard.

*****

“Raise you ten.”

Ron threw his cards down in response to Sirius’s bid. “Fold.”

“Harry?”

“Call.”

“Three aces! Who’s lucky tonight?”

Harry’s cards hit the table as well. “Guess who’s not getting lucky tonight.”

“That’s a low blow!”

“Lucky at cards, unlucky in love,” Ron said.

“Luck? That was pure skill!” Sirius replied.

“Chess is skill. Poker is luck,” Ron told him.

“Says the man depending on luck!”

“Well, that’s enough gambling for me,” Harry interrupted them. 

“What? You’re bailing just when I’ve got a good run?” Sirius protested.

“Yes,” Harry said.

“I taught you better! Gentlemen don’t leave a card table before giving the others a chance to win their money back!”

“We were playing with your money,” Harry pointed out.

“And I told you that if you win, you can keep the money!”

“Which is exactly what I’m doing,” Harry said.

Sirius didn’t have an answer to that. Well, not before Harry had left the lounge.

Ron shrugged with a grin. “Tomorrow’s another day.”

Sirius sighed. “I guess so. With the girls spending the evenings talking, there’s not much we can do.”

“Especially since someone broke the controllers for the console, and we haven’t yet gotten replacements,” Ron pointed out.

“It’s a plot by Dumbledore,” Sirius retorted - without looking at him.

“I’m sure.”

“Good.” Sirius nodded. “More DVDs wouldn’t go amiss, either.”

“We’ll have to wait for the next trip,” Ron said.

“Well, I don’t see why we can’t go right away,” Sirius replied. “It’s not as if we can’t disguise ourselves.”

Ron was about to point out that they still hadn’t found the leak when he saw that Hermione’s door was opening. “I think I’m going to bed,” he said, without taking his eyes off the door, and stood up.

Sirius laughed behind him, but Ron ignored it, just like he ignored Luna’s smile and Ginny’s remarks, as he walked down the hallway and entered Hermione’s room.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, August 9th, 2005**

“Alright, let’s see some kicks! No, not like that! Watch!” Ginny yelled, then demonstrated a kick that hit a training dummy - if the padded pillar deserved that name - roughly at the height of her head. If that had been someone’s head, teeth would have been smashed out of their mouth, Ron thought. “See? You need to turn so you can raise your leg sideways.”

“Like a roundhouse kick?” Hermione asked.

“No. Not exactly. Try it!”

Hermione tried, but her kick wouldn’t have smashed teeth, in Ron’s opinion. Probably wouldn’t have done much of anything.

“No, no! You need to kick harder! Watch!” Another demonstration followed. “See? Try again!”

While Hermione tried again - improving a little, as far as Ron could tell - Ginny went to correct Luna’s stance. “No, no! You need to lower your centre of balance! This is fighting, not dancing!”

“If you’d teach us Capoeira, it could be both!” Luna retorted.

“I’m teaching you effective martial arts moves. Not flashy ones! Now try again!”

“If she ever quits tennis, she’s got a career as a military instructor ahead of her,” Sirius mumbled next to Ron.

“I’m reconsidering the decision to let Ginny give us some martial arts lessons,” Ron replied in a whisper.

“It’s mostly to keep her busy, I think,” Sirius told him. “So she won’t go stir-crazy.”

“Instead, she can drive us crazy,” Ron said.

“She’s not bothering us, is she?” Sirius grinned and nodded towards Hermione, who was currently sitting on the floor after having lost her balance in her latest attempt. “Of course, seeing Hermione suffer makes you want to step in, doesn’t it?”

It did, but Ron knew better than to attempt it. Especially with Ginny involved. “It’s for her own good,” he said instead.

“She won’t be able to defend herself against a competent enemy,” Harry told them, joining them with a towel around his neck.

“Your standards are a little unreasonable,” Sirius pointed out. “You consider Ginny barely competent,” he added.

Harry scoffed in return. “I’d prefer it if we could teach them how to shoot. Practical shooting,” he clarified. “Not just the theory of it.”

“We’d need a shooting range for that. And a specialised training ground,” Ron pointed out, not for the first time. And the laboratory lacked both. They could, in theory, shoot anywhere in the area, but that might draw attention - shots carried quite a distance, and if a hiker heard shooting… Ron didn’t want to find out what Dumbledore would do to keep their location secret.

“The guards mentioned that as well. Apparently, they used to train more regularly - now it’s down to once a month, and in an isolated spot,” Sirius said.

Dumbledore didn’t want his men talking to others, not even in the same organisation. Well, he still hadn’t found the mole. If there was a mole in the first place - the leak could’ve been in CI5. Or an analyst had guessed their likely reaction to the Albanian connection. Or simply covered several of the possible leads they might’ve investigated. Although that would have increased the risk of being discovered. “It’d take too long to teach them how to shoot a gun under fire, anyway,” Ron added.

“We don’t know how long this will take,” Harry replied. “And we don’t know if the war on the other side is still going on.”

“Well, basic training doesn’t take that long…” Sirius trailed off. 

Ron pressed his lips together. He didn’t want Ginny and Luna to fight in a war. And certainly not on the front lines. Not even their counterparts had done that. On the other hand, he doubted he could keep them from getting involved.

“Oh, I know! We can get some laser training gear!” Sirius said. “And we can train with them. I’m certain that Dumbledore can get us a few sets.”

Harry mumbled something about overpriced laser tag, but Ron nodded. It would certainly help. And, at the very least, keep Ginny busy without getting Hermione and Luna bruised.

He winced at seeing his sister teach the other two how to block a kick. Perhaps he should step in and teach Hermione himself.

*****

_“We’re not here to study for the O.W.L.s. We’re here to learn how to fight.” Harry faced the gathered students. “Voldemort has returned, and he’s gathering his forces. Sooner or later, a war will start. And they’ll come for you.”_

_She watched the crowd while Harry spoke. She didn’t pay attention to his speech - she had written most of it, anyway. Most of the students nodded in agreement. Some even looked eager - mostly Gryffindors. A number seemed to be having second thoughts - mostly Ravenclaws, as far as she could tell. She hoped that they had avoided recruiting any students who weren’t serious about fighting, but they must have missed or misjudged a few._

_Well, that was what the contract was for. They couldn’t force them to fight Death Eaters when the time came, but they wouldn’t have to worry about traitors._

_“We won’t be learning exotic curses here. We won’t be learning how to duel,” Harry said._

_As if on cue, someone blurted out: “What?”_

_Ron stepped up. “We’ll be learning how to fight - not how to compete in a tournament. In combat, you won’t be duelling. You’ll either be trying to get away or to take out the other bastard. And you won’t be fighting fair. You’ll be ganging up on your enemies whenever possible and using every dirty trick you’ve learnt. That’s what we’ll be practising here.”_

_Harry nodded. “You won’t be learning how to cast spells as much as you’ll be learning how to use them. You’ll learn how to cast when running, on the ground, on a broom, with one arm disabled, when silenced. A spell you can cast perfectly under any circumstances is far more useful than a dozen spells you can barely cast. The perfect curse for a situation is useless if you can’t hit your target.”_

_The assembled students looked a little taken aback. Had they still not realised what was at stake? She pursed her lips and shook her head before she spoke up. “We would be doing this even if our current Defence teacher wasn’t useless. This isn’t about passing the O.W.L.s. This is about fighting a war. You remember the contract you signed?” She smiled as she saw some of the students grow pale. “It’s a magical contract. Don’t try to betray us - to anyone. You won’t like the consequences if you do.”_

_If they survived the curses she had placed on the document in the first place, of course. Sirius and Remus hadn’t just taught them how to fight over the summer, after all. Exotic dark curses had their uses, even if they weren’t the best choice for fighting._

*****


	20. The Swiss Vacation

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, August 12th, 2005**

He studied the treeline through the scope of his rifle, slowly moving the barrel back and forth, but couldn’t spot anything or anyone in the woods across the small field.

“This side’s clear,” Ron said into his radio. “Yours?”

“Clear,” Harry answered. “They’re taking their time.”

“Think they’re trying to wait until we’re bored and start to get sloppy?” Ron asked.

“Sirius would grow bored before we did. Long before we did,” Harry replied.

“But he’s just advising them,” Ron said. The older man’s wound was still preventing him from taking part in this exercise. Or should - Ron wouldn’t put it past Sirius to throw caution and medical advice to the wind and grab a sniper rifle to help the girls out.

He quickly scanned the treetops and other likely sniper nests, then adjusted his helmet. Although it was made of Kevlar instead of steel, the bloody thing was still heavy and cumbersome. And the laser sensors strapped to it didn’t help matters any. “If he’s got a sniper rifle, then we’re in trouble,” he added. “We won’t be able to spot it even when he’s firing.” Normally, the laser tag gear - Ausbildungsgerät Duellsimulator, as the Bundeswehr called it - would be used with blank cartridges, but their sets had been modified so they, and the girls, would only need to pull the trigger to fire.

Which meant Harry and Ron wouldn’t be able to use the noise from shooting, or the flash and smoke, to spot their positions. Neither would the girls, but then they were the attackers, so they had a rough idea where Harry and Ron were hiding already. If he and Harry were allowed to cross the clearing and hide in the woods from where the girls would approach them… but they weren’t.

“Birds!” Harry hissed.

Ron saw them as well. Something had disturbed the birds in the woods on Harry’s side. Someone, to be precise. “There they are,” he whispered.

“Keep covering your side,” Harry whispered back. “This might be a distraction.”

A distraction? Sirius had been a tank commander. Would he think of such a trick? It was possible, but not too likely. Ginny or Luna? Ron doubted it. His sister was sneaky, but her home was the tennis court, not the outdoors, and Luna was even worse in nature. Hermione, though… well, she might think of it - she knew how Ron had spotted Berisha’s men, after all. He frowned and focused on the tree line across the clearing. As Moody had taught them - always assume the worst. Of course, Moody also had taught them not to be predictable...

“It’s a distraction,” Harry said as more birds rose into the air, including a few crows who made their displeasure loudly known. “They’re overdoing it.”

“Probably Luna, then.” That would fit her, in Ron’s opinion. Ginny was too competitive to be a mere distraction - and had been too enthusiastic about their G36s when they had done some ‘familiarisation exercises’ yesterday. More enthusiastic, in fact, than she had been at her birthday party, though that was understandable, given the circumstances. He shook his head and forced himself to focus on the exercise, not yesterday. It wouldn’t be Hermione; she had too much experience to be wasted on such a task.

“Or Sirius.”

That would be a way for Sirius to take part without risking his recovery - and being left out of the next mission. Ron nodded. “He’s certainly annoying enough when he tries,” he joked.

Harry chuckled, then cursed and ducked. “Someone just missed me!”

Ron hadn’t heard the sound from the system but quickly rolled behind the tree trunk next to his spot. “They know where we are.”

“Yes. Let’s move,” Harry replied.

They quickly changed position, using a fallen tree as cover. They couldn’t move the flag they were to guard - the objective of the exercise - but no one had said that they had to stay near it and so they had prepared a nice position further down Harry’s side.

But how had the girls spotted them? Magic? Ron didn’t think so. Hermione wouldn’t be using magic with Dumbledore undoubtedly watching the exercise - and wanting to debrief them afterwards. So… He blinked. Luna had received a new toy at the same time they had received the laser tag gear, hadn’t she? “Harry, I think Luna’s watching us with a drone,” he whispered.

“What?”

“The new RC helicopter she got, it uses an electric engine,” Ron explained.

“Damn. And it’s small enough so it can hide in the treetops. _That_ must have disturbed the birds!”

“Yes. And I bet it’s not rigged with a laser receptor.” Which meant they couldn’t shoot it down even if they spotted it. Ron shook his head. It wasn’t quite cheating, but it was certainly bending the rules. They were supposed to train the girls, not actually compete, after all. “That was probably Ginny’s idea,” he muttered. His sister really hated to lose.

“Yes,” Harry agreed. “But all we have to do is be more careful, and keep the drone’s field of view in mind.”

“Bushes should be enough to keep us hidden,” Ron said. The small helicopter couldn’t have a thermographic camera installed. And it wouldn’t be able to stay aloft for long, either. All they had to do was wait a little longer.

Though the girls and Sirius would know that as well. On the other hand, he didn’t think Sirius and Ginny would be patient enough to outwait them. Hermione might, and Luna would be, but they wouldn’t be able to hold back the others. At least Ron didn’t think so.

He crawled - slowly, so he wouldn’t disturb the foliage and branches of the bush under which he was hiding - a little further. “I’ve got eyes on the flag,” he whispered.

“I’ve got eyes on the approaches,” Harry replied. “They’ll try the distraction again, I think.”

This time, Ron could hear the squawking of birds. He tensed, aiming for the flag on the ground. 

Then something fell down next to it, and, a second later, the entire area was covered in thick smoke. 

“Bloody hell!” he muttered. That was even worse cheating than the drone. Smoke wouldn’t stop bullets, but it affected lasers. Not completely, so he started shooting at the flag’s spot, but he’d need to be lucky to score a hit that would register on the sensors.

He wasn’t. “Yes! We got the flag!” he heard Ginny yell.

Harry shot her as soon as the smoke started to settle.

*****

“We won!” Ginny said for what felt like the tenth time.

“By exploiting the rules and mechanics,” Ron retorted. “This would have been useless as a tactic with live weapons.” He grabbed a can from the cooler in their ‘break room’, as they called the small clearing.

“So? It was within the rules.”

“This wasn’t about winning or losing,” he told her. “This was about training.”

“We trained to think outside the box.” She huffed and grabbed a can of her own.

That was a line straight from Sirius, Ron could tell. “And if you try that in a real fight, you’ll end up shot.”

She froze for a fraction of a second, then glared at him before taking a big swallow from her drink. “We still beat you.”

“And Harry shot you,” Ron pointed out.

“The exercise was over by that point.”

“You can slack off once you’re... home,” Ron retorted. Moody’s original quote went ‘once you’re dead’, but that wouldn’t have been appropriate.

“This isn’t home,” she replied, nodding towards the laboratory.

“Exactly.”

His sister rolled her eyes at that. “You’re worse than Harry. Shouldn’t you be kissing Hermione instead of lecturing me?”

“Shouldn’t you be kissing Harry?” he shot back, glancing over his shoulder to check that the others were still working on Luna’s new helicopter at the other end of the clearing.

“He shot me! I’m not going to snog him until he apologises.”

“He’ll do that - after talking to you about taking this exercise seriously, I think,” Ron said.

“He’s such a sore loser!”

Ron had to cough at that, which earned him another glare before Ginny huffed and went back to the others. He finished his can, grabbed another for Hermione and followed his sister.

“It can’t stay aloft very long,” he heard Luna explain. “but it’s much quieter than our old helicopter.”

“It can’t carry us, either,” Harry said.

“That’s what the old helicopter is for!” Luna replied. “This one’s for scouting!” She was smiling. “Like a drone.”

“Technically, it is a drone,” Hermione pointed out. “A remote-controlled unmanned craft.”

Ron smiled - that was such a typical comment for her - and handed her the drink. “Here.”

“Thank you.” She flashed him a smile and opened the can.

Harry frowned. “Where’s mine?”

“That was Ginny’s task,” Ron told him.

“No, it wasn’t!” His sister glared at him, then looked at Harry, who didn’t say anything in response.

Ron sighed. They’d work it out soon enough, but until then, it was a little annoying. “So… anything else to add about our exercise?”

“Other than that we beat you?” Ginny said quickly.

“We out-thought you,” Luna added with a grin.

“You abused the rules,” Harry said. “So apart from learning what won’t work in a real fight, there’s nothing to add. So… let’s go back to actual training. You’ve got five minutes to set up in that part of the woods, and then we’ll come for you. No drones, no smoke grenades, nothing but the rifles.”

“You’ve had your fun,” Ron added, “now it’s time to train again.” 

“And time for me to return to work,” Hermione said.

Ron nodded. He didn’t like leaving her alone in the lab - even with Sirius around - but he could do more good here.

“I would love to join, but doctor’s orders forbid it,” Sirius told them.

That left Luna and Ginny. Ron couldn’t help grinning at their expressions. They’d had their fun. Now Harry and he would have theirs. 

*****

“How did the training go?” Hermione asked a few hours later, when Ron, freshly showered, checked up on her before dinner. She was wearing slacks and a T-shirt, but her hair was still up in that messy ponytail she favoured.

“We made up for the time lost before,” he said. He didn’t glare at her, but he didn’t bother to hide his opinion of what they had done.

She picked up on that, of course. “They needed it,” she said, narrowing her eyes slightly. After a moment’s hesitation, she added: “They’re still not over the fighting.” Her expression told him that he better not tell anyone.

He wouldn’t, of course. But he liked her trusting him with this. “I don’t expect them to be fine,” he said. Getting over such an experience would take longer. He knew that himself.

“It’s not just the trauma,” she replied. “They don’t want to feel helpless and useless.” 

“They aren’t,” he said with a frown. “Ginny drove the Land Rover, and Luna piloted the helicopter. Without either, we would have been in a lot of trouble.”

“I know. I’ve told them that myself, but that doesn’t alter the fact that they really did feel helpless out there.” She shrugged as she sat down at her desk, then pulled on a sweater over her thin T-shirt.

“Beating us by abusing loopholes in the rules isn’t going to help them,” he pointed out, leaning against the wall next to the door. He didn’t cross his arms - that would have made him look like he was more annoyed about this than he actually was.

“Thinking outside of the box is a very useful skill to learn,” she countered. “Creative plans saved my and my friends’ lives a few times.”

“Unless you learn the wrong lessons,” he replied.

“That’s what the rest of the training is supposed to prevent, isn’t it?” She shrugged again. “It’s not as if you’re going to turn them into soldiers with a few lessons, anyway.”

“Every little bit helps.” Not that he wanted Ginny and Luna to kill people anyway. They shouldn’t have to go through that. And Mum and Dad would kill him. 

“Unless it results in overconfidence.” She didn’t copy his stance and tone, but he got the hint. 

“It’s also giving them something to do.” Mostly Ginny - Luna had her contacts on the net.

“Yes, and that’s helping. At least in my non-professional opinion.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he told her as she walked over to him - and the door. 

“I’m a physicist, not a psychologist.”

“But you’re also their friend. And a woman. You can help them where we can’t,” Ron said. Which hurt a little to admit - he was Ginny’s brother and Luna’s ex-boyfriend, he had known both of them practically since birth.

“I’m doing my best,” she said. “And it seems to be helping.”

“That’s all we can ask.”

She snorted at that. “Let’s go. We don’t want to hold up dinner, do we?”

“No, we don’t.” He shook his head, then sneaked a quick - or not so quick - kiss before she opened the door.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, August 15th, 2005**

As they returned from another training session in the woods, they saw Dumbledore sitting on a folding chair in front of the laboratory and watching the lake. Waiting for them. 

“Ah, there you are! Good evening, gentlemen, ladies.” The old man slowly stood and nodded at them. His suit was both expensive and immaculate - quite the contrast to their own baggy and muddy fatigues.

“Good evening, Mr Dumbledore,” Harry replied. Ron nodded in greeting, as did Sirius.

“I hope you had a productive day,” Dumbledore went on.

Ron shrugged in response. “We have to keep in shape.” He was certain that their progress was being tracked, though they hadn’t seen any overt surveillance. 

“An admirable attitude.” Dumbledore smiled like a teacher praising a favourite student.

“Did you find Sokolov?” Luna asked before the old man could continue.

Dumbledore looked taken aback and, for a moment, lost his patronising smile - but it returned at once. “Indeed, I did. Or, more precisely, some of my affiliates managed to discover where he is currently staying.” He inclined his head. “Although I think we should discuss this in a more private setting.”

Ron wondered if that was a subtle hint that Dumbledore’s men had, by now, bugged the entire forest.

“By all means,” Sirius agreed. “My shoulder’s still not fully healed, and I’d rather sit down on a proper chair to talk about this. It’ll be dinner time soon, as well.”

“And we wouldn’t want to exclude Hermione, would we?” Ron added. This was about her, after all.

“Oh, sorry!” Luna said, nodding several times. “I didn’t think - I wanted to find out if I was right.”

“Quite understandably, my dear,” Dumbledore told her. “Curiosity gets the better of me at times as well.”

Another hint? A warning? Ron couldn’t tell.

“Shall I join you for dinner, then?”

“We’d love to have you,” Sirius said - without any trace of sarcasm. It was an impressive lie - but then, Ron’d heard how Sirius had been raised. With those sorts of parents, you’d have had to learn how to hide your true feelings.

*****

Dinner was, as usual, excellent. Perhaps even better than usual - delicious entre-côtes Café de Paris with pommes frites. Dumbledore certainly had a taste for French dishes, though it took until the crème brûlée was served for dessert for him to finally stop chatting about the economy, travelling, politics and the weather, and start talking about Sokolov.

“He has made himself very scarce indeed and avoided his usual stomping grounds - far more than even when Interpol was looking for him,” the old man explained. “I think this means that he isn’t just laying low and hiding from the authorities but also hiding from at least one of his former partners or employers.”

“Do you know who those people are?” Harry asked.

“I know a number of them. Alas, Sokolov worked for and with a wide range of people, and even if we narrow the number down to those he would be afraid of, it’s still over a dozen people,” Dumbledore replied as he handed a list to Hermione. 

“Influential people with many contacts, I presume,” Sirius said.

“Very much so, yes.” Dumbledore looked at Hermione. “Do any of the names seem familiar to you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t recognise any of them.”

“That means we have to talk to Sokolov. Or, at least, get access to his files,” Ron said.

“How would we do that?” Luna leaned forward, her elbows pushing her plate and her glass to the side. “Do you know where his files are stored?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t,” the old man admitted. “He might have set up a dead man’s switch so his data will be revealed to the public, should he become incapacitated, but the information would spread to everyone, and we don’t know whether it would implicate the people after Dr Ganger.”

“Not to mention that we don’t murder people for their information,” Harry pointed out.

“Yes,” Luna agreed.

“Certainly not when crucial information might die with them,” Hermione not-quite-agreed.

“Quite.” Dumbledore acknowledged the rebuke with a nod of his head, but Ron was certain that the former spy only cared about the danger of others hearing about Hermione’s secret. 

“So, we need Sokolov. Where is he hiding?” Harry asked.

Ron leaned forward as well. 

“Mr Sokolov has had an impressive career and has many contacts in Eastern Europe, the former USSR and the Middle East. However, not all of his contacts are as loyal as he thinks they are,” Dumbledore said. “Or as security conscious as they should be, given their profession.”

Ron kept a rein on his temper. He wanted to know where the bastard was hiding, not listen to some clever reveal, but it was Dumbledore’s show.

“Of course, he counted on that - he let slip to selected people that he had a private island in the Aegean Sea while he actually went into hiding somewhere quite different.” Dumbledore’s smile grew a little more patronising. “However, he must not have been aware of the fact that, while the reputation of the Swiss banks for discretion and loyal service is well-earned, the Swiss authorities, in response to recent international pressure, do not protect their banks quite as fervently as they used to. Which means several proud and distinguished bankers might find themselves imprisoned, should their past business practices be revealed.”

“Ah.” So the old man’s people were blackmailing Swiss bankers. 

“So where is he?” Harry asked again.

“Twenty years ago, he bought a small cottage - a so-called ‘chalet’ - in La Punt Chamues-ch.”

“Lapoont jamooash?” Luna asked.

Dumbledore corrected her pronunciation. “La Punt Chamues-ch. A small village in the Swiss Alps.”

“Oh.” Luna nodded. “And you think he’s hiding there.”

“I believe so,” he replied. “My contact in Switzerland verified that the house is currently occupied - the water and electricity consumption is up compared to last month.”

“And you want us to handle him?” Ron asked.

“You handled Mr Berisha admirably, despite the unexpected complications.”

‘Unexpected complications’... Ron had a mind to ask the old man if he had said the same thing whenever he lost a spy to a trap. Or still did.

“However,” Dumbledore went on, “I don’t have a backup team in place there, and moving one into the country would incur the risk of further leaks. So, although I doubt that Mr Sokolov’s security is in the same league as Mr Berisha’s, you would be operating with less support.”

“But better secrecy,” Harry pointed out. “Unless you’ve found any moles in your organisation.”

“The efforts to tighten security are ongoing,” Dumbledore said. Had his smile slipped a little? Ron couldn’t tell. “Although, at this point, I don’t believe that there was a highly-placed informant. I think it’s more likely that someone managed to combine intelligence received through various channels - including sources outside the Phoenix Gruppe.”

“Such as Yaxley,” Ron said, frowning.

“If he wasn’t silenced as a loose end, he might be working as an analyst now.” Dumbledore shrugged. “At least as long as he proves his worth.”

Harry shook his head. “He isn’t that good.”

“But he knows you - better than anyone else our still unknown enemies have access to, I’d wager.”

Ron nodded in agreement. “Well, that means that once we find out who is behind this, we might find Yaxley as well.”

“Indeed.” Dumbledore smiled widely. “Although, first, we need to find out what - and who - Mr Sokolov knows.”

“I don’t think Sokolov will talk to us,” Ron said. The man would be paranoid.

“And if he did, I doubt we could trust him to tell the truth,” Harry added. “We’ll have to kidnap him.”

Hermione nodded in agreement, Ron noticed, but Luna was frowning, and Ginny… she was likely putting on a brave front.

“That will require a little more extensive planning, I believe,” Sirius said. “The Swiss aren’t as lax as NATO are in Kosovo.”

“But they also don’t have their military ready to intervene at a moment’s notice,” Dumbledore pointed out.

“The village is close to St Moritz,” Luna said. “Surely they have competent police forces to protect all the billionaires?”

“Their numbers are limited,” Dumbledore replied, “and, since it’s summer, the jet-set aren’t present in the area. That will affect the priorities of the local police.”

Ron couldn’t help noticing that both Luna and Dumbledore seemed to assume that there would be another firefight like in Kosovo. “Their numbers and state of readiness won’t matter if no one notices us,” he said. 

“Or if we divert them to another location,” Hermione suggested. “We could fake an attack on someone else.”

“We’d have to split up for that,” Sirius pointed out with a frown.

That wasn’t a bad thing, either, Ron thought. Ginny and Luna could do the diversion - they would be safe.

Hermione, though, dashed his hopes. “We can set up the diversion in advance and start it remotely. A few recordings of gunfire, a few planted charges… if done at night, it’ll be enough to occupy the police. We could even start two or three diversions.”

“A fine idea, although such preparations will require a significant effort and increase the risk of discovery,” Dumbledore replied. “Sokolov might have people in place checking for suspicious activity. Which is why flying directly to Samedan Airport near St Moritz is inadvisable in my opinion - it is an obvious location to put under surveillance.”

“Then we’ll take a detour,” Sirius said, shrugging. “We’ll need to plan our escape in advance, though - if it’s in the Alps, the mountains will hem us in and there’ll be natural choke points, which the police will know.” Sirius frowned. “We’ll need maps of the area.”

With a smug smile, Dumbledore pulled out a bundle from his jacket. “Here.”

“Perfect!” Sirius took them and unfolded one, and Harry had to react quickly to keep a wine bottle from toppling over when Sirius pushed his plate away, before joining his godfather in studying the map, followed by Luna and Hermione. Ginny, too, after a moment - probably so she wouldn’t feel left out.

Everyone seemed to assume that they’d all go together, again. Ron pressed his lips together. Ginny and Luna weren’t ready for a fight - that would take far longer than the few days they had spent training.

“I think all of you will be pulling your weight,” Dumbledore said as if the old man had read Ron’s mind. “Many crucial tasks on such a mission do not require shooting a gun.”

Which, Ron knew, didn’t mean someone wouldn’t be taking a shot at you. But there was no way Ginny and Luna would agree to stay behind - and if they did, Ron and the others might end up short a set of hands at a critical moment.

If only Dumbledore could trust his men; they wouldn’t have to take Ginny and Luna along if they could get a few trained men instead.

At least Ron would ensure that Luna and Ginny wouldn’t be in danger. Not this time.

*****

**Flughafen Kloten, Zürich, Switzerland, August 17th, 2005**

The armoured SUV was waiting at the airport, as ordered. At least that had worked out as planned - their flight from Frankfurt had been delayed by an hour, and it had taken another thirty minutes before they had been able to recover their luggage. At least the fake identities they had been using courtesy of Dumbledore had held up to the customs officers’ scrutiny - Ron had been worried about that, but, obviously, counterfeit passports provided by Dumbledore were far ahead of the usual fake IDs he knew from his work. 

In any case, they were in Switzerland. And all their gear, and then some, was safely stored in Hermione’s beaded bag.

“You know, Hermione, you could make a fortune smuggling,” Sirius said after Luna had checked for bugs in the car and they had left the airport. Ginny was at the wheel, with Sirius navigating, or so he claimed.

“What?” Hermione gasped. “Smuggling? Are you mad?”

“Really? You’re currently smuggling weapons, aren’t you?”

“Very funny,” Hermione said, in a tone that made it clear she thought it was anything but.

Sirius chuckled. “Seriously, though, we’ll have to look into using the opportunity to stock up on contraband here. Duty-free takes on a whole new meaning if you’ve got a bag of holding that, thanks to magic, will fool the customs officers.”

“It’s not a bag of holding,” Hermione replied through clenched teeth.

Ron carefully didn’t laugh. But he grinned. 

*****

**St. Moritz, Switzerland, August 17th, 2005**

Three hours later, they were pulling up in front of the Grand Hotel Carlton in St Moritz, one of the oldest luxury hotels in the area. And, as Ron noticed when he got out, perhaps in need of some makeover.

“Remember, you’re a group of rich students with more money than sense, and I’m your driver and bodyguard, paid by Ginny and Ron’s parents,” Sirius said.

“I think, by now, we all know our cover story by heart,” Hermione replied.

“We should,” Ginny said. “You quizzed us during the drive.”

It wasn’t the most elaborate cover story, and probably not the best, either, but it would do, Ron thought. They certainly didn’t look like a group about to kidnap a wealthy but shady businessman. Provided, of course, their disguises held, and Harry stopped acting like a bodyguard himself. Rich young men didn’t take note of the area around them like that. 

But Ginny was on the job. If anyone knew how to act like a member of the jeunesse dorée, it was Ron’s sister. She might not have grown up rich, but after a few years on the WTA tour, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference compared to any other rich girl. Especially if Harry played his part. He had been raised by Sirius, after all.

Although if they were mistaken for part of the nouveau-riche, it would only help with their cover. And it would irk Sirius.

He got out, then waited for Hermione to get out. Like Ginny and Luna, she was wearing a summer dress that, to anyone who knew their fashion, looked as expensive as it actually had been. Not to mention sexy, he added to himself with a smile as he offered her his arm.

“Shouldn’t you have held the door for me?” she asked as she joined him.

“We don’t want to be too perfect,” he told her with a grin.

She snorted. “Good excuse.”

“As I was taught, what you do and say matters far less than whether or not you have an excuse ready.”

“Your parents never taught you that!” she exclaimed as they walked towards the entrance while Sirius parked the car.

“No, they didn’t. But I never said that, did I?” He grinned. “However, I learned quite a lot from my older brothers. And Sirius, of course.”

She sighed. “I can imagine.”

Once more, Ron was reminded of the fact that the wizard Weasleys were very similar to his own family. Just with the ability to bend reality to their whims.

He managed not to sigh as they entered the hotel.

*****

Their room was spacious, but a little old-fashioned for a luxury hotel. Ron would have expected slightly more modern amenities. It still was more modern than Grimmauld Place, though. And far more expensive than Ron would have been able to afford.

He kicked his shoes off and sat down on the bed. “You can have the first shower,” he told Hermione as she put down her beaded bag of holding on the other side of the bed. “Unless you want to share,” he added with a wink.

She blushed a little, and he could see that she was tempted. But, after a moment, she shook her head. “We should focus on the reason we’re here.”

“It would look weird if, right after we arrived, we went out to explore the countryside. We’ve spent hours in a plane and more hours in a car,” he pointed out, grinning. “And we’re currently rich students on vacation - we’ve got leisure time aplenty.”

“This sounds like another excuse,” she said, frowning at him. But she was still flushed.

“I’ve thoroughly learned this particular lesson,” he replied, propping up his head with his hand as he laid down on his side.

“You say that as if that’s something of which you should be proud,” she retorted with another frown.

“As long as it gets results…” He smiled a little wider at her. She was tempted, very tempted - he could tell. “Besides,” he added, “if we share the shower, we won’t take much longer than if we go one after another.”

She laughed at that, then shook her head. “Is that false modesty or sudden honesty talking?”

Hey now! It was his turn to frown, which made her laugh again. “I think you should find out for yourself,” he said, standing up and moving towards her.

She licked her lips as he came closer and tilted her head to meet his eyes. “It wouldn’t be fair to the others.”

“You think Ginny and Harry aren’t doing the same thing right now?”

“Luna and Sirius aren’t,” she retorted.

Well, Ron certainly hoped they didn’t become a couple. That would be very weird. Out loud, he said: “How’s that different from back at the lab?”

She scrunched her nose, frowning, as she tried to think of an answer to that. After a few seconds, she huffed, turned around and walked towards the bathroom without answering.

But she started pulling off her clothes halfway there and glanced at him over her shoulder.

*****

**La Punt Chamues-ch, Switzerland, August 18th, 2005**

Sokolov’s house didn’t look like the vacation home of a rich Russian businessman. It was roughly the same size as its neighbours, and Ron couldn’t spot any ostentatious show of wealth, either. In fact, it wasn’t even unique - he had seen an identical building on the way into the village.

“Did he buy the house off the shelf?” he asked as he stopped walking and pulled out a drinking bottle from his backpack.

“Standard design,” Hermione said. “It certainly helps with staying under the radar.”

“Clever!” Luna commented. “But boring as well.”

“If you go into hiding, you want to appear boring and unremarkable,” Harry said.

“But wouldn’t that be expected?” Luna replied. “If everyone expects your hideout to be boring, you might want to be flamboyant instead. Your enemies won’t expect that. Or hide in plain sight.”

Ron hoped Luna didn’t decide to take her own advice. “That doesn’t work very well,” he pointed out. “If you stand out, you’re more likely to be noticed.”

“Yes,” Ginny agreed. “It’s the same with the press. And it means that even if they spot you, the pictures they take won’t be published because they’re boring.” She stretched.

“Unless that’s their angle,” Sirius added.

“That only affects celebrities who actually depend on being glamorous,” Ginny replied. “Besides, you can dress boringly and still look good.” She ran a hand over her front for emphasis.

Like all of them, she was dressed for hiking, though in Ginny’s place Ron wouldn’t want to leave the trails - her short-shorts and T-shirt left a lot of skin bare, which wouldn’t exactly be ideal if you had to move through a dense forest or field. On the other hand, these hiking trails were quite extensive and well cared for, so it wasn’t exactly an unsuitable outfit. Even though he felt it was a little too close to the outfits that she wore on the tennis court. Though with her hair dyed, and some makeup, she shouldn’t be recognised.

“We should focus on our objective,” Hermione said. “Not on the vagaries of the press.”

“There’s not much on which we can focus,” Ron pointed out. Sokolov had an average fence, an average yard and an average house. Even the Dursleys would consider this a little too ordinary, he thought.

“I bet the security system isn’t average, though,” Luna said. “Though I can’t tell from here. We need to get closer to the house. Much closer.”

They’d have to leave the trail for that, which would draw attention from any competent bodyguard. “We can do that at night,” Ron said. “And place cameras at the same time.” This trip was mostly to get familiar with the area during the day, after all.

“The garage is a standard size as well,” Harry remarked. “That means they’ll have a smaller car, or it’ll take them longer to get into a bigger car without having to drive it out first.”

“We’ll have to sabotage the garage, anyway,” Ron pointed out. “To prevent Sokolov from escaping.”

“That will require more information,” Hermione said.

“We’ve got the time,” Ron replied. He really didn’t want to go in blind, like with Berisha.

“We’ll have to scout out the locations for the distractions as well,” Ginny said.

“Yes,” Harry agreed. “And we need a good cover. So we’ll hike a lot so we won’t only be seen near the areas of interest.”

Sirius groaned. “If I wanted to walk around like a bloody farm animal, I’d have joined the infantry!”

Harry patted his godfather’s back. “Consider it your daily training regime.”

Sirius expression made everyone chuckle. Even Hermione and Luna, who weren’t much fitter than he was.

*****

**St. Moritz, Switzerland, August 19th, 2005**

“They definitely have an advanced security system,” Luna said between taking bites out of a croissant, tapping on a picture they had taken yesterday. “That’s an infrared sensor in the backyard, above the door to the terrace. Calibrated not to react to small animals, I bet, or it’d wake everyone up every time a fox passed through.”

“Detecting an intrusion so close to the house wouldn’t be enough to stop a dedicated attack. Not the sort they launched at us,” Sirius said. “And the house isn’t big enough for a dozen bodyguards.” He took a sip from his tea, then carefully put his cup down on one of the scarce free spots on the table in Ron and Hermione’s room. “They’ll need active and passive defences.”

“The glass door looks armoured,” Harry said. “The windows are probably bulletproof as well. And the curtains keep anyone from tracking people inside the house.”

Ron nodded. Even the thermographic cameras they had installed last night had trouble detecting anything inside - the house had really good insulation.

“I think Sokolov counts on not being found,” Hermione said. “I don’t think he expects to be able to fend off an attack.”

“He’ll still have an escape plan,” Luna replied. “Probably an underground tunnel.”

That sounded a little far-fetched. Ron doubted that Sokolov would have been able to dig a tunnel in secret through half a Swiss village. On the other hand, Berisha had had an escape tunnel. 

“We’d need special equipment to detect a tunnel,” Hermione said. “And that would be hard to hide.”

“We won’t need to detect a tunnel if we surprise Sokolov and catch him before he can flee.” Ron pointed at the small balcony on the first floor. “What about dropping us - Harry and me - off there with the silent chopper? Shrunk, we could sneak inside and wait until the potion’s effect ends.”

“I don’t think you’d be able to sneak into the house like that,” Luna said. “They don’t keep the windows open, according to our surveillance.”

“They open them during the day,” Ron retorted. His plan would keep everyone but Harry and himself safe, and, if they could get inside, they’d achieve complete surprise.

“We wouldn’t be able to use the RC helicopter during the day,” Luna said. “Too obvious.”

And sneaking through the yard while shrunk would be dangerous - and take quite some time. And they would have to wait until someone opened the door or a window, then sneak in. That could take hours. They would have to drink quite a lot of Shrinking Solution to have enough time for the worst case. Which meant they would have to hide for hours inside - if things went well.

Possible but not ideal.

“Oh, I have an idea!” Luna piped up with a wide smile.

That was either a very good, or a very bad thing, Ron knew.

*****

_Seeing the throngs of people filling the streets, it was hard to imagine that they were fighting a civil war in the same country. The same city, even - the Ministry was in London, after all. Not that any of the muggles around them, going clubbing or drinking, would be aware of that._

_She shook her head. She wouldn’t think of the war. Not now._

_“Is something wrong?” Ron asked. He was tense and looking around._

_“No.” She smiled at him. “I was just considering how peaceful all this is.”_

_“Ah.” He nodded, obviously relaxing._

_“I’m not having second thoughts,” she told him._

_“Ah.” He smiled, almost shyly. “Just… it’s OK if you do.”_

_That was out of the question. She had planned this thoroughly. Picked the movie, the club and the hotel. “We might be dead tomorrow. Today, I want to live,” she said, facing him. Before he could answer, she reached out and wrapped her arms around him, hands digging into his hair._

_She felt his arms around her as she pulled him closer, and they kissed._

_A group of drunk young men whistled as they passed her and Ron, but she didn’t pay them any mind._

_Today, nothing and no one else but them mattered._

*****


	21. The Middleman

**La Punt Chamues-ch, Switzerland, August 22nd, 2005**

Ron held his breath as he saw the dark shape of Sokolov’s house - his chalet, as the locals called it - loom out of the darkness in front of them. Well, the almost darkness - the street lights were still on. The electric RC helicopter was very quiet - unless you were two inches tall and inside it. It was hard to imagine that Sokolov’s people wouldn’t notice its approach, even though it was past midnight already.

And now came the dangerous part. Luna had trained for hours for this during the last two nights, and she had gotten the hang of it. Ron trusted her, and the moon was very bright - the full moon had been on the 19th - but he couldn’t help recalling her first attempts to pilot the helicopter at night with her night vision goggles…

There came the roof. If the toy hit it, then the guards inside were bound to notice it - at least Ron would if he were in their place. But the helicopter stopped. And Luna’s voice sounded from the small mobile phone they had squished into the helicopter between Ron and Harry. “Waiting for instructions!”

Ron leaned out of the open door and peered down and ahead. “We’re about…” He mentally calculated the distance relative to his current size. “...one yard out and two yards up.”

“Alright!” Luna whispered, though her voice was far too loud for Ron’s peace of mind.

The helicopter started to slowly move ahead.

“Half a yard… one foot. Stop!” Ron called out. “Start descending.”

“Alright!”

He saw the roof grow closer as the helicopter lost altitude. At around one foot, he called out “Stop!”

“Copy!” Luna replied, and the helicopter stopped its movement, hovering in the air. Ron kicked the string they had spooled up out of the door, then attached his harness to it. “Ready?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at Harry on the other side.

“Yes,” his friend replied.

“Going down!” Ron announced, then climbed out and rappelled down, Harry doing the same on his side.

They hit the roof almost simultaneously, then went to its edge and fastened more string to the roof rail there. By the time they were set for the next step, the helicopter had already left and headed back to Luna. And, after checking for spiders or other dangerous creatures hiding beneath the rail, they started climbing down. Towards the infrared-sensor. 

They had to traverse a little, which was tricky - but for two-inch tall people, the walls of the chalet offered plenty of hand- and footholds. Far easier than the climbing wall at the academy. A few minutes later, they were straddling the sensor.

Now came the hard part: disabling it with miniaturised tools. Without triggering an alarm. Ron got the muscle-powered drill out and got to work - they needed a hole so they could use the shrunken saws.

It took them fifteen minutes to cut out and remove a large enough section of the sensor’s casing, and Ron was sweating by the time they could finally access the electronics. Sawing through plastic that thick took a lot of effort.

“Alright, mate,” Harry said. “Cut the blue or the red wire?”

Ron chuckled. There wasn’t a red wire at all in the thing. “Let me check the schematics Luna gave us.” If the sensor wasn’t among the types for which Luna had found schematics, they would have to improvise.

But as it turned out after five more minutes, one of the schematics Ron had carried matched the sensor. “It’s this wire,” he said, tapping the thick cable in question. Plastic, wrapped around three thinner cables filled with wires.

Harry cursed. “That will be a bitch to cut through.”

It took them twenty minutes to cut a strip of plastic covering free so they could get started on the actual wire, and fifteen more until they could finally use the wire-cutters on the bundle of copper inside. The Shrinking Solution wouldn’t last much longer.

Ron cut frantically, sweat soaking his shirt and black fatigues. He couldn’t simply cut away - he had to keep bending the remains away so he could get to the next wire. And without getting electrocuted. 

But they made it - Harry snipped the last wire, and both of them were still miniaturised. “Let’s climb down,” Harry muttered, already gripping the string on his side.

Ron followed his example after storing the wire cutters in his harness. Rappelling down was easy, but it was a very long drop for their size. And below them waited a lawn hiding spiders and worse.

As they hit the ground and ran towards the door to the terrace, Ron hoped that the potion’s effect would end soon. He really, really didn’t want to fight any giant spiders today. Or any other animal.

They reached the door, then took cover behind a planter in the corner - filled with herbs, not flowers. Ron didn’t fancy getting caught by an owl, or another predator.

“Don’t get too far behind it,” Harry whispered. “Don’t want to topple it once we start growing.”

“Yes.” Ron rolled his eyes. They’d gone over that during planning. But arguing over it in the middle of the op wouldn’t help anyone. At least they wouldn’t have to wait for long - by his count, and his watch agreed, they only had a few minutes left. 

But even so, waiting and hoping no fox, owl or any other predator would pass by and spot them was nerve-wracking. The rifles they had with them wouldn’t do much to a cat, much less a fox. Not at their current size - Ron knew enough about firearms and hunting to be aware of that. Perhaps they should have taken an elephant rifle instead. Or an RPG…

When he felt the now familiar rippling sensation, he was very much relieved, even though he almost didn’t manage to get out from behind the planter before he was restored to his normal size.

Crouching next to the wall, out of view from the inside, he heard Harry whisper into the radio: “Team One, ready.”

“We’re ready as well,” Luna replied.

Ron heard Sirius complain about proper protocols as Ginny reported: “Team Three, ready.” 

He looked at Harry, pulled his night vision goggles down, then drew his silenced pistol and whispered: “Let’s do this!”

His friend nodded and went back to the door. Ron peered through the window in the door. The living room behind it looked empty. “Don’t see a guard,” he whispered. 

Harry nodded and pulled out his lockpicks. Two minutes later, he pushed the door open, and they entered the chalet.

They had the blueprints of the chalet - it was a standard design, after all. That meant the main bedroom would be on the first floor - unless he had chosen another room. That might complicate matters a little. He wished they could just flood the house with some magical compound that would knock out everyone inside, but Hermione hadn’t had anything on hand that wasn’t administered orally, and they couldn’t risk the mundane compounds. Not without risking killing everyone inside. The Russians had demonstrated that in the Moscow Theatre Hostage Crisis. They had to do this the normal way.

Harry took point, sneaking through the living room. The kitchen was empty - they could check through the open door - but Ron heard light snoring from a smaller room to the side, and Harry raised his hand, then pointed at it.

Ron didn’t bother nodding - he passed Harry and checked the room. It was a guest room with a bunk bed. Two men were sleeping there, both almost too tall for the bed - Ron could see feet hanging out. He doubted that either one was Sokolov, but sneaked over to check anyway.

Bodyguards. He pulled out one of the syringes in his front pocket. Two quick injections later, Ron could be certain that they wouldn’t wake up until tomorrow, not even if there was a shoot-out in the room.

He returned to the living room and signalled two down to Harry. His friend nodded, then pointed at the stairs. Showtime.

Ron wet his lips, then went up the stairs, pistol in hand. He didn’t like this - shooting people for getting in his way was wrong even if they were likely hired thugs - but they had no real choice. They needed Sokolov’s information.

But he reached the upper floor without being spotted. There were three doors here, all closed, with the one leading to the main bedroom straight ahead of him. Ron crouched at the top of the stairs, covering the other two doors as Harry passed him and went ahead.

The first of the smaller rooms contained another bunk bed - Ron caught a glimpse of it as Harry sneaked inside. A minute later, his friend reappeared, signalling two more men down.

Four down. That was about as many as they had suspected. But there was one more room to check before the main bedroom. Ron moved ahead, covered by Harry, and pushed the door open. Another bunk bed - but an empty one. The room was occupied, though.

Damn. Ron gritted his teeth. Sokolov must have someone standing guard inside his bedroom. Or two.

“One or two missing,” he whispered as he moved back into the hallway.

Harry nodded, his lips twisting into a frown beneath his goggles. One, potentially two guards awake inside the bedroom was bad news.

“The door’s locked,” Harry whispered. “And it’s a security door.”

That was worse. No gap beneath it to slide a camera or mirror through to to check inside. And if they started to pick the lock, a guard inside was bound to notice. They could wait until the shift change - but that could be another hour or two, easily. Perhaps even longer. Although… standard procedure would call for a patrol in irregular intervals. And guards had to pee as well. They could wait.

But what if the next shift was expected to relieve the guard or guards inside, and didn’t come? That would alert the guard that something had gone wrong. And who knew what they would do in response? Call the police?

Ron wet his lips again. “We’ll have to break in,” he whispered.

“They’ll notice,” Harry replied.

Ron nodded. To be precise, the guards might not notice, if Harry got lucky, but if he wasn’t, then the guards would be ready for them when the door opened. And both Harry and Ron were well aware of what usually happened if you entered through a door and found the other side prepared for your arrival. Or gone through a secret escape route. 

No, the risk was too high. “We’ll have to force it,” he whispered.

He could see Harry’s lips twist into a frown. They could blow the door. Disorient the guards at the same time. But to disable them without killing? That would be tricky. Very tricky. 

“Blow the door, follow up with flashbangs and tear gas,” Harry said. “Then take them down and secure them.”

Ron nodded. It was more dangerous than shooting the guards - but they wouldn’t be killing them. And the risk of accidentally killing Sokolov would be greatly reduced as well. But their own risk of getting hurt - or killed - would increase. “Prepare the charge, I’ll inform the others that we’ll need the distractions.”

“At least we won’t have to recover them,” Harry replied.

“Team One to Team Three. Fire the distractions,” Ron whispered into his radio.

“Team Three, gotcha!” Ginny replied. A moment later, she added: “Distractions fired.”

Harry was already setting up the charges on the door - more of them than usual for a room. But this bedroom had been modified into a panic room. At least it meant they wouldn’t be able to hear them whispering. 

“Will they be enough?” Ron asked once Harry had finished.

“Yes.” Ron’s friend sounded confident. And he knew his business. 

Ron still looked the setup over, then nodded. He couldn’t think of anything he’d do differently. Good. He checked the time. Five minutes since the distractions had started. They had to wait at least ten more minutes for the police officers on duty to get mobilised and reach the areas in question. But if they waited too long, then any latecomers might be directed towards them as soon as Sokolov’s neighbours alerted the police.

If this were Britain, Ron would have been able to predict the police response quite precisely. But this was Switzerland - he didn’t know enough about the local police to tell.

It all came down to a roll of the dice, in the end. Let’s hope it’ll come up a twenty, Ron thought with a snort.

“Something funny?” Harry asked.

“Just a stray thought,” Ron told him.

The minutes passed. If a guard had to go to the toilet, then they could rush the room and would avoid alerting the neighbours. Or scaring them.

But no one did before the ten minutes were over. “Team One. We’re going in,” Ron said.

“Team Two. Be careful,” Hermione replied.

“Always,” he lied as he patted the pouch that held the vial with a healing potion.

Then he looked at Harry, pulled his gas mask on and grabbed a CS grenade and a flashbang. “Ready,” he said, pressing himself against the wall next to the door.

“Ready,” Harry replied and detonated the charges.

The door wasn’t blown fully open - but there was a sizeable gap. More than wide enough for a couple grenades. Harry’s flashbang flew inside, followed by Ron’s CS grenade. As soon as the grenades went off, Ron swung around and threw himself against the door, shoulder-first.

The door broke under the impact and crashed to the floor. He rolled to the side and came up in a crouch behind a toppled table as Harry charged into the room behind him. One figure was stumbling around in the tear gas cloud, waving a gun. Ron struck the man’s head with his pistol, knocking the man down, then followed up with a kick to the head. “One down,” he snapped, crouching down again.

“Two down,” Harry answered.

Something - someone - was moving on the bed. Sokolov! Ron quickly stepped closer to the coughing and crying figure. They just had to…

Something hit him in the chest, and he stumbled back before he heard the shot. Another shot rang out, and Ron dropped to the floor. Bloody hell, Sokolov was armed! And Ron’s chest hurt, despite his vest stopping the bullet. 

More shots were fired as Ron rolled towards the bed, groaning at the pain that caused. The man had to be near blind from the tear gas, so he couldn’t see what he was shooting at - firing blindly. That meant… The shots stopped, and Ron rose, then came down on the figure on the bed, knocking the gun away.

A few blows to the head and arms later, the man - Sokolov, Ron recognised the face at this distance - stopped struggling and tried to cover his head with his arms. Ron quickly secured him with cable binders on his wrists and ankles. “Got him!”

“Got the two others secured,” Harry replied as he came over, using a flashlight to check the man’s face. “That’s him.”

“Yes. Let’s go!”

Each of them grabbed one of Sokolov’s arms, and they quickly carried him out of the demolished room. Even with the distractions, the police would be here shortly - but that didn’t mean that they would find anything. 

Ron and Harry dropped Sokolov off in the hallway, then dragged the two secured bodyguards out of the room and into one of the smaller bedrooms. They quickly sedated the two bodyguards before leaving the room again. The tear gas would linger, but it wouldn’t enter the other bedrooms through closed doors - not in significant amounts, at least. 

Harry fed a vial of Shrinking Solution to Sokolov, then put him into a cushioned box that would let him breathe and pocketed him.

“Team One to Teams Two and Three, status?” Ron asked as they went down to the ground floor,

“Team Two. No sign of the police, yet,” Hermione answered.

“Team Three. All clear,” Sirus added.

“Neighbour’s awake,” Harry said, nodding towards the closest house, where the lights had gone on.

It wasn’t a problem. The lights would have ruined the residents’ night vision, yet were not bright enough to cover Harry and Ron’s escape route.

“Team One withdrawing. Got the objective,” Ron announced as they left through the back door. Then they sprinted through the garden, quickly went over the wall, and headed straight back to Team Two. 

It was time to disappear.

Five minutes later, they were stripping off their fatigues behind a few trees and bushes.

“Ah, tear gas… the smell of rebellion,” Luna commented, holding up Harry’s top - at arm’s length, of course; she knew better than to actually sniff fabric soaked with tear gas.

“Stuff it into the plastic bag and seal it,” Hermione told her. “We don’t want all our equipment and supplies to become contaminated.”

“It might improve the taste of some of the rations,” Ron joked as he slipped his boots off.

“Very funny,” Hermione replied in a flat tone. “The rations are sealed, so… What happened to you?” She gasped.

Ron winced. She had noticed his vest. “A lucky shot from Sokolov. The vest stopped it,” he told her. “I’m fine.”

“I’ll check that as soon as possible,” Hermione said.

Ron had no doubt that she would already be inspecting his body with a flashlight if they didn’t have to avoid drawing attention by such displays. He tried not to wince when he pulled his top off - that hurt. And he ignored Harry’s snort.

Five minutes later, dressed appropriately for tourists, and with everything suspicious as well as Sokolov hidden inside Hermione’s bag of holding, they were on the way to Sirius and Ginny - and the fireplace they had built earlier in the evening.

If the police stopped them on the way back to the hotel, the smell of tear gas lingering in their hair would be suspicious. But the smell of smoke from a fire? Perfectly natural for a group of tourists having a barbecue. Or whatever the Swiss called it.

Not that there was a high chance of getting stopped by the police, anyway. Odds were, the local police would dismiss any reports of an explosion in La Punt Chamues-ch as a prank or someone using up fireworks left over from the 1st of August. Until the bodyguards woke up and managed to free themselves, of course.

*****

**St. Moritz, Switzerland, August 22nd, 2005**

“‘I’m fine’? Really?” Hermione’s voice dripped with scorn as she traced Ron’s bruise with her finger.

“Well, nothing broken, no blood…” He trailed off in a hiss when her finger pressed down a little. He would have taken a step back, but his back was already leaning against the wall in the hotel room’s bathroom.

“‘Fine’!” She shook her head, then pulled a small tin out of her bag and opened it. “Hold still, This ointment will deal with it.”

He didn’t argue about saving the magical salve. The bruise might look suspicious to anyone who knew about getting shot with a vest. And it hurt quite a lot.

She dipped her finger into it, then put a dollop on his skin and started to rub it in.

Ron sighed with relief as the pain faded wherever the salve touched his skin. “Thank you.”

She huffed in response. “You’re worse than my Harry.”

“Oh?” Her Harry?

“He would claim he was fine after breaking his arm playing Quidditch. Or worse!”

“Ah.” He shrugged - that didn’t hurt anymore! - and added: “It didn’t stop me.”

“You had trouble dressing yourself,” she retorted.

“Well… only once we were done.” Not during the fight. Adrenaline had carried him through that.

She sighed. “Some people...” Then her sigh turned into a yawn.

“Let’s head to bed?” he asked. It was late - or, rather, it was now early; the sun was already rising outside. And both of them were too tired for anything but sleep.

“Yes. I just need to take out Sokolov, first,” she said. “If the Shrinking Solution’s effect ends while he’s in the bag, and in that transport box…”

Ron winced at the picture that conjured in his mind. “Yes. We can stash him under the bed. In a sleeping bag.” Just in case someone ignored their ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign. 

A few minutes later, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

*****

“So, how is he?” Ron asked six hours later, between taking bites out of his sandwich. It was too late for a proper breakfast, not quite early enough for lunch.

“Medicine is not my speciality, but he looks healthy enough, apart from the bruises,” Hermione replied as she stood from where she had been kneeling next to Sokolov.

“Good.” If they couldn’t keep the man sedated without risking his life, they would have had to adjust their plans. And Ron didn’t really care about the bruises - the man had tried to shoot him, after all. Of course, Ron had been about to kidnap him, but in Sokolov’s business, that was to be expected.

“He still needs an infusion to keep him from dehydrating,” she went on, stretching.

“Alright,” he replied. “Can you hand me a bag and some duct tape?” He’d have to fix the bag to the underside of the bed - a stand was out of the question.

She didn’t question him or made a joke about duct taping criminals as Harry would have done. She simply handed him a roll of duct tape and a bag of saline drip.

“It still feels weird,” he commented as he got to work. “Hiding him under the bed…”

“It’s the most practical solution to preserve our resources and keep us safe,” she told him. Their magical resources, of course.

He grunted in agreement as he set up the drip. The Shrinking Solution was too damn useful to waste on anything non-essential, as last night had proved once more. Still, seeing a bound and sedated man under a bed in a hotel room seemed to fit a comedy more than reality. At least they were pretty safe - Ron doubted that anyone would suspect them. The concierge had seen them enter, after all, and they couldn’t have carried a body with them. It wasn’t the best alibi, but it would do. At least until they left tomorrow morning. “Has the news about the kidnapping broken already?” 

She switched the telly on and flipped through a few channels until she found some news. There was nothing about a kidnapping, though. “Perhaps the radio might be a better choice,” she said, “Local news might not make national television.”

“If you can understand it, sure,” Ron replied.

“I’ve been studying German a little, lately,” she said, sitting down on the bed. She froze for a moment with a frown, looking down - Sokolov would be directly beneath where she was sitting. Then she pursed her lips. “I should be able to understand enough to know if the news reports the kidnapping.”

But the radio didn’t report anything about a kidnapping once the news came on. Though La Punt Chamues-ch was mentioned, Hermione claimed it was just another report of the ‘fireworks’ event. Once more, she pursed her lips. “Would the police keep it secret from the press so as not to endanger the investigation?”

Ron shook his head. “Impossible. They couldn’t hide the investigation at Sokolov’s house - they would have to check the garden, the area around it, cordon everything off and canvass the neighbourhood… You can’t hide that. Someone would inform the news.” And the police wouldn’t really mind - it would probably stop the jokes about their ‘overreaction’ to ‘fireworks’ which Ron knew would be made.

Hermione nodded. “Perhaps the bodyguards haven’t woken up yet.”

“They should’ve,” Ron said. “We were very careful with the dosage.” He shrugged. “Perhaps the bodyguards decided to flee rather than report it. If the police started an investigation, they would have come under scrutiny as well.” And given the sort of people Sokolov did business with, odds were his bodyguards would be persons of interests for a few other investigations as well. “They might even loot whatever cash and valuables Sokolov had with him.”

“Convenient, if it’s true.”

“Yes.” Unless, of course, one or more of the bodyguards decided that they didn’t want to share with the others.

A house full of bodies would certainly make national news. International, even.

Although someone willing to murder his former comrades would likely have sold out Sokolov at the first opportunity. Still, you could never be sure. 

Ron shook his head. “So, the plan’s still on. We’ll be the happy couple spending the entire day in bed, after a night out with our friends.”

“Yes.”

He grinned. “And we should make it believable. Our alibi will look much better if the hotel staff who deliver our meals can confirm that we spent the day in bed.”

“Yes.” She was grinning as well. “We should do our best to make it as authentic as possible.”

*****

They had given it their best shot, as far as Ron could tell, hours later, as dinner time approached and he took a shower. Their lovemaking had been different, at the start at least. More frantic, or so it had seemed. And it was Sokolov’s fault, in Ron’s opinion. As much as he’d tried to ignore it, Ron had been very much aware that they had been making love in a bed under which a sedated prisoner was stashed away. It coloured the whole act, though he couldn’t decide whether the danger of getting arrested, should they be discovered, or the fact that they were committing a crime was the main reason for the difference.

He sighed as he turned the water off. They were doing the right thing, even if it was breaking the law. Even Moody had told them that, sometimes, you needed to bend or break a few rules. He sighed again, towelling off. Moody probably hadn’t meant kidnapping. Probably - the man had started in the seventies, after all, when Cowley had been in charge of CI5. That man and his top team, Bodie and Doyle, certainly had played fast and loose with the regulations. Probably with the law as well - but none of Moody’s stories, or anyone’s, had ever been more definite than rumours in that regard.

Hermione entered as he was about to use the blow-dryer. “Hey.”

“Hey. Shower’s free,” he told her with a grin.

“I can see that,” she replied. 

It wasn’t the only thing she was seeing - his towel was draped around his neck, not slung around his hips. But while her eyes certainly dropped down, she only messed his hair as she walked past him.

“Hey!”

“You hadn’t combed it yet,” she said with a giggle. Then she let her robe drop, and he swallowed his retort. 

By the time she had finished her shower and dried her hair - which took far longer than his own mop of hair, given the volume of her mane - and stepped out of the bathroom, Ron was sitting in an armchair and studying the room service menu.

“It’s kind of a waste that we are eating our last dinner here in our room and not in the restaurant,” she commented.

“Can’t be helped,” he said. They couldn’t leave the room unguarded as long as Sokolov was under the bed, and using a dose of Shrinking Solution to take him with them would be a pointless waste.

“I know.” She smiled, a little ruefully.

Ah. He nodded. “I’ll order candles for dinner as well,” he said.

She looked confused for just a moment, then her eyes lit up, and she smiled. 

*****

Unfortunately, they had barely reached dessert during their candlelight dinner - the small table made for a very intimate and romantic set-up, in his opinion - when they were disturbed by someone knocking on the door.

“Mate, let us in,” Ron heard Harry ask before he could tell them off.

He looked at Hermione. She frowned but then sighed. “We do need to talk and plan, I think.”

He agreed, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He still smiled when he opened the door - Ginny would only tease him if he complained about the interruption.

The others entered, Luna making a beeline for the dessert. “Oh, pudding!”

Well, skipping dessert wouldn’t kill him, Ron reasoned. Not that Luna didn’t deserve it, anyway. She was the only one of the group not in a couple, after all. Well, together with Sirius, but that was a little different.

“So, you didn’t break the bed. Good. I half-expected to find our guest crushed under the remains of the frame!”

Ron rolled his eyes. Very different.

“Very funny,” Hermione said in a flat tone.

“And very classy,” Harry added.

Luna made a noise of agreement - her mouth was stuffed with cake. Ron didn’t know with whom she agreed.

“I’m always classy,” Sirius replied.

“Apart from when you’re not,” Ginny added as she pulled Harry towards the armchair in the room - after a glance at the bed.

Ron could take a hint and sat down on the bed, Hermione joining him. That left her seat to Sirius.

“So… any change to our plans?” Harry asked.

“None. At least not from us,” Ron replied. 

“Our guest is doing as well as can be expected, considering their circumstances,” Hermione added. “There should be no problems during tomorrow’s drive.” She leaned a little against Ron. “I have some reservations about the transfer at the airport.”

“Do you have an alternative solution?” Harry asked.

Ron didn’t have to look at her to know Hermione was pursing her lips in response. She sounded as if she had to force out her answer. “No.”

“Then we stick to the plan,” Harry said.

“Yes!” Sirius said, clapping his hands. “Uncle Alphard would have loved it - he collected all sorts of morbid paraphernalia.”

“I don’t have any reservations about that part of the plan,” Hermione explained. “But the timing will be very tricky.”

Sirius shrugged. “I trust your mastery of the mystical arts to deal with such mundane trifles.”

Hermione’s frown was replaced by a glare aimed at the older man, but Sirius merely grinned in response.

*****

**Flughafen Kloten, Zürich, Switzerland, August 23rd, 2005**

“As you can see, it’s a work of art!” Sirius declared. “Have you seen the satin cushions inside? Embroidered! With gold threads! Best souvenir ever! I can’t wait to use it!”

Ron managed not to grin at the glance the two customs officers exchanged upon hearing Sirius’s claims. The embroidery was extremely garish. 

“Mr Brown,” the apparent leader of the two - Ron couldn’t see a difference in rank between them - said, “this is a coffin.”

“Why, yes, it is!” Sirius nodded with obvious enthusiasm. “A hand-crafted antique coffin! What a find, eh?”

“Are you a collector?”

“Indeed! Although not exclusively of coffins, of course, but anything that fits the Victorian fascination with the occult and morbid,” Sirius replied. “My family was deeply into that sort of thing at the time.”

Ron cleared his throat. That was getting a little too close to the truth - the Black family had been involved with several occult circles in the nineteenth century, after all. And using a fake name and identity might not be enough to keep a good analyst from making the connection. “So, can we proceed?” he asked. “We do have a flight to catch.”

“Bah! They will wait - I am paying for the jet, after all!” Sirius chuckled. 

Ron didn’t have to completely fake his long-suffering expression when he looked at the customs officers. Sirius was overdoing it. As Hermione had feared when they had planned this - after a certain point, reverse psychology failed to work.

Fortunately, the two officers had more luggage to check and waved them on. “No, you can proceed,” the leader said.

“Thank you! Have a nice day!”

They strode out of the room, Ron pushing the dolly with the coffin and their other luggage. It was quite heavy - heavy enough, actually, that the addition of a hundred and fifty pounds wouldn’t be obvious.

Which also made it quite difficult to push and manoeuvre through a crowded airport, though. But he managed without steering it into anyone, and a few minutes later, they reached the lounge where the others were waiting.

“That went well!” Sirius said as they sat down on free seats and grabbed a drink.

Ron shook his head. “It could’ve gone better.”

“What? I completely fooled them! Otherwise, they would have arrested us, wouldn’t they?” Sirius nodded to his own words. “Quod erat demonstrandum.”

Hermione sighed and checked her watch. “You cut it close.”

“Someone really got into his role,” Ron explained.

“Ah.”

“Hey! That’s called good acting! Method acting!” Sirius protested. “And it’s good timing.”

Ron didn’t think that Sirius had kept the duration of the dose they had given Sokolov in mind. And he doubted that anyone else believed his claims. But it didn’t matter. Things were still going according to plan.

“Well, let’s see if they damaged your coffin,” Hermione said, opening it and peering inside. “Did you leave a sock in here?”

“What? No.”

Hermione bent forward and stuck her head under the closed part of the coffin’s lid. “Ah, no, just a loose rag.” She held it up and closed the coffin again, then rocked it a little.

About ten minutes later, she put her hand on the coffin and rocked it. Or tried to. “I think we should board the plane now.”

That meant that the Shrinking Solution’s effect had run out and Sokolov’s actual size and weight had been restored. Ron nodded. “Yes, let’s go.”

The business jet Dumbledore had chartered for them lifted off almost on schedule, with their luggage, including the coffin, stored in the back. 

And there was no chance that the plane’s crew, no doubt hand-picked by Dumbledore, could possibly suspect that Hermione could shrink people and equipment.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, August 24th, 2005**

“That was quite a smooth operation,” Dumbledore told them over lunch. “Kidnapping someone in a foreign country is a challenge even for the best in my former business. I’m impressed - especially by how you managed to smuggle Mr Sokolov out of the country through an airport.”

Impressed - and curious, Ron was sure. “Thank you,” he said. He didn’t mention that they had been lucky that the bodyguards had bailed rather than called the police. 

“It’s all in the acting,” Sirius added.

“Interesting,” the old man replied. “How did you deal with the x-ray scanners?”

“We skipped them,” Harry said.

“Ah.” Dumbledore nodded. “You didn’t use a technological solution to fool them?”

“No,” Hermione said. “It was all done with sleight of hand - in a manner of speaking.”

“I see.” The former spymaster inclined his head again. “In any case, our new guest should be ready to answer a few questions after we finish our meal. He needed a little time to recover after being transported.”

“That couldn’t be helped,” Ron replied. “We had to keep him sedated.”

“I wasn’t criticising your actions,” Dumbledore told him.

Of course not. But Ron nodded as if he believed the old man.

“Will you be using your truth serum again, Dr Granger?”

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed. “Sokolov is a crucial source of information, after all.”

“While we cannot, at this point, exclude the possibility of Sokolov serving as a decoy, I agree.”

“A decoy? Hidden so well?” Luna shook her head.

Ron agreed with her. That would’ve been insane. All their work, for nothing?

“My dear, I know of even more elaborate deceptions than this - which were successful, I’ll have you know.” Dumbledore smiled in his usual slightly condescending manner. “But we shall soon find out the truth, thanks to Dr Granger’s assistance.”

Ron certainly hoped so.

*****

“Were you aware of the mission for which so many mercenaries were needed?” Harry asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you know why someone wanted to kidnap Dr Granger?”

“No.”

“And who told you to hire mercenaries to send to Britain?”

“Igor Kirikov.”

Ron didn’t recognise the name, and neither did Hermione - she wasn’t a good enough liar to hide that, as he knew. But he noticed that Dumbledore was frowning, and made a note while Harry continued the interrogation.

“How did you know that we’d go after Berisha?”

“Kirikov told me.”

“Did he tell you to warn Berisha?”

“Yes.”

“Where does Kirkov live?”

“Russia.”

“Do you know his address?”

“No.”

“Do you know how to contact him?”

“Yes.”

“How do you contact him?”

“I call him.”

“What is the number?”

Sokolov rattled off a phone number.

“Where do you know him from?”

“He was my superior at the KGB.”

Ah. No wonder Dumbledore had recognised the name. “Does he still work for the KGB?” Ron asked.

“No.”

“Who does he work for?” 

“Himself.”

That was good news, in Ron’s opinion. If Russia were after Hermione… On the other hand, he knew just how close certain ‘businessmen’ were to the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service.

And, as they quickly found out as Harry and Ron continued to question the drugged Sokolov, Kirikov was one of those businessmen.

*****

An hour later, the Veritaserum stopped working, and Dumbledore’s men carried Sokolov away. Presumably, they’d take him to the same location in which Berisha was currently being kept prisoner. Ron gathered his notes. A lot of the information they had gained wasn’t related to Hermione, but it was still useful - Sokolov had worked with and for a lot of criminals, after all. And they had confirmed that the man hadn’t had a dead man’s switch.

Harry turned to Dumbledore as soon as the door closed behind Sokolov. “You recognised the name.”

“Indeed, I did,” the old man answered. “Igor Kirikov. An old… well, I wouldn’t say colleague. We weren’t quite on the same level - my time in the field had already ended when he started working for the KGB.”

“Like Sokolov,” Ron said.

“Yes. But Kirikov was higher-ranked. And knew more secrets. I don’t doubt that he still has a lot of friends in the FIS.” Dumbledore rubbed his beard. “Unfortunately, our information on him is a little out of date - something I intend to rectify at once, mind you.” He tapped a few keys on the laptop on the table near him. “This is our most recent picture of him.”

Hermione gasped. 

“That’s Igor Karkaroff!”

*****

_“Is something wrong?” Viktor asked as they took a break from dancing. “You seem distracted.” He was glancing at her friends, she noticed. Who were sitting with their dates, the Patil twins._

_“It’s your headmaster,” she told him. “He’s been glaring at me ever since we opened the ball.”_

_“Ah.” Viktor nodded sharply. “He fears you are, how do you say, using your wiles on me to help your school.” He chuckled. “I told him you were not that kind of girl, but… he is suspicious of everyone.”_

_The nerve of the man! She hesitated a moment, then said: “With good reason. He was a Death Eater.”_

_“Ah.”_

_“It’s a matter of public record,” she went on as they walked towards the buffet for a drink. “He was put on trial in Britain after Voldemort had been defeated.” Technically public, of course - the record had been buried in the Ministry archives. If not for Percy’s help, they would never have been able to read it - he had denounced too many ‘innocent victims of the Imperius Curse’. That it hadn’t been sealed was a small miracle._

_“His past is known, but not spoken of, in Bulgaria,” Viktor said. “Although he is not the only former dark wizard present, is he?”_

_Since the Dark Arts were still taught at Durmstrang, Hermione wasn’t entirely certain whether Karkaroff was a_ former _dark wizard. “You mean Professor Snape,” she said. “Dumbledore vouched for him.”_

_“Yes. And Dumbledore is friendly towards the Headmaster as well, isn’t he?”_

_Hermione nodded. “He is, yes.”_

_She didn’t tell Viktor that Dumbledore behaved that way towards pretty much everyone - even people she knew he loathed, such as Lucius Malfoy._

_She wanted to enjoy the Yule Ball, after all._

*****


	22. The Next Step

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, August 24th, 2005**

“Igor Karkaroff?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes. The name is different, but they look exactly alike,” Hermione replied. She was looking agitated.

“Malfoy had a different name as well,” Ron pointed out.

“Malfoy has a different first name; this is a different last name,” Harry retorted. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She nodded sharply. “I remember that man well - he spent a year at my school. He had issues with me dating one of his students.”

“And he was Russian? And a teacher?” Dumbledore leaned forward. “Or was that a cover?”

“He had been involved in my Riddle’s terrorist cell in the seventies but turned crown witness when the police arrested him. That earned him a much-reduced sentence,” Hermione explained. “He later became the headmaster of a school in Eastern Europe and visited Britain during a school tournament meant to foster closer ties between the schools.”

“Oh? Interesting. So he wasn’t a spy, unlike Kirikov.” The old man frowned. “Unless that was a cover.”

“He wasn’t a good spy, in any case,” Hermione said with a snort. “He tried to cheat in the school tournament. Unsuccessfully. While accusing me of spying on his pupil to help my Harry win the tournament.”

“Did he win?” Sirius asked with a grin.

Ron saw Hermione rolling her eyes “Yes, actually, he did win the tournament,” she said while Harry glared at his godfather. “Not that it mattered - no one cared since there was an attack on the tournament which caused the death of a star student. That was the unofficial start of the war.”

“I see. And do you know what happened to Karkaroff afterwards?” Dumbledore pushed his glasses up with one finger.

“He was killed. Probably by the men he had betrayed since it happened after they were broken out of prison.” Hermione pursed her lips. “In theory, he could have managed to fake his death, but I doubt it - the men sent after him were not the sort to make such mistakes.”

Dumbledore nodded in agreement, but Ron couldn’t tell if the man actually believed it. “In any case, the biographies of both men are distinctly different,” the old man said. “Kirikov wasn’t as prominent and never was a teacher as far as we know. Although I can’t exclude the possibility that he was operating in Britain during the Cold War, which would be a parallel to your Karkaroff, he wasn’t arrested, much less tried.”

“Another parallel is that he has no scruples and will betray his allies if it benefits him,” Ron pointed out. “Sokolov assumed so, at least.”

“He might’ve been mistaken,” Dumbledore replied. “Although that’s unlikely - he knew Kirikov very well, after all.”

“And how well do you know Kirikov?” Harry asked. “Sokolov didn’t even know where the man lived.” Which would have made tracking the man down a lot easier.

“My files’ coverage of his work for the KGB is quite passable, although there are missing periods - nobody is perfect, after all. Although our intelligence on his activities in the last decade is quite spotty. I expect, however, that this will soon be rectified.” Dumbledore’s polite smile turned a little toothy. “While I have no doubt that Kirikov has amassed a fortune following his retirement from the FIS, I can safely say that it won’t even come close to the resources that the Phoenix Gruppe can bring to bear on this task.”

“He or one of his old comrades could have a mole in your organisation,” Harry replied. 

Ron nodded. Sokolov hadn’t known of a mole - he hadn’t known Yaxley, either - but Kirikov wouldn’t have told him about his spies. Not if he was, as Sokolov had feared, willing to kill his former partners to protect himself.

“I’m well aware of that possibility and we’ve taken steps to counter that - or exploit it.” The old man smiled again. “Gellert and I have some experience in this sort of game.”

More than Ron and Harry had - Ron understood the message perfectly. If Luna were here, she’d certainly point out that for all their experience, they still hadn’t found the suspected mole, but Ron didn’t want to push the man’s buttons like that. “So, we wait until you know more,” he summed up.

“Precisely.” Dumbledore tilted his head. “Although a little technical assistance from Dr Granger wouldn’t go amiss if the situation calls for it.”

If his men kidnapped a potential source of intelligence, in other words.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Hermione replied.

And now Dumbledore knew that they had an ample stock of truth serum. 

“It would be best if we had a few doses on hand - unless you prefer to administer it yourself to every suspect we need to interrogate. But it’s far easier to transport a vial across Europe without drawing attention than a famous woman - or a kidnapped thug.” Dumbledore smiled winningly.

Ron doubted that the old man would limit its use to suspects related to Kirikov. And he’d have a little more to analyse.

And Hermione knew it as well. She glanced at Ron, and he smiled back with a subtle nod. They didn’t have any choice - unless Hermione wanted to interrupt her work at any time, for days, and travel in disguise, Dumbledore would get his ‘truth serum’. They could only hope that should he use it on Berisha, he would dismiss the claims of having been shrunken as hallucinations from a shocked, drugged and seriously wounded man.

“Of course,” Hermione agreed with a thin smile.

“Splendid!”

*****

“What did Sokolov say?” Luna asked as soon as they returned from the interrogation to the lounge in their quarters. 

Ginny made a point of slowly looking up from her magazine, but Ron had no doubt that she was as curious as Luna. His sister merely didn’t like that she had been excluded from the interrogation. But she was a tennis player, not a trained interrogator - or a witch.

“Turns out the man behind the attacks on us is Igor Kirikov - the counterpart of Igor Karkaroff,” Harry told them.

“The terrorist turned teacher?” Ginny asked,

“Headmaster,” Hermione corrected her. “Though I think he was a teacher as well. We don’t know yet whether he changed his name, or if that’s a quirk like Malfoy. But Kirikov is Karkaroff’s counterpart. I’m certain of it.”

“He’s an ex-KGB agent,” Ron said. “Now he’s a ‘businessman’ with contacts to organised crime and the FIS. The Foreign Intelligence Service of the Russian Federation.”

“I didn’t think a former KGB spy would be working for the International Ski Federation,” Ginny replied with a glare as Luna giggled.

Ron wouldn’t consider that improbable - the sports business offered a lot of opportunities for corruption, graft and money laundering. But it wasn’t worth arguing the point - it would only rile up Ginny.

“Oh! So... when will we go and get him?” Luna asked.

“We don’t know his location,” Harry replied. “Dumbledore’s men are working on it.”

“And we can only wait and hope they won’t bungle it,” Sirius said. 

“They didn’t with Sokolov,” Luna pointed out.

“But they did with Berisha,” Sirius retorted. “And I think Kirikov will be more dangerous.”

“That is a given,” Hermione said. “He’s got more experience, more power and more contacts than Berisha.”

“And he’ll have the better home-field advantage - if he’s holed up in Russia,” Harry pointed out.

Which he probably was, Ron knew. “He’ll have the authorities looking out for him. We won’t be able to simply enter as tourists using fake IDs. Not as a group. And we’ll need far better disguises.”

“Dumbledore must be feeling nostalgic,” Harry said. “Working against the Russians again, just like old times.”

Ron wasn’t the only one who chuckled at that. “We can only hope that he hasn’t lost his touch,” he said. Although Dumbledore wouldn’t let Hermione go on such a mission if he suspected he had been fooled, it wasn’t impossible that he would be, anyway - the Russians were good at the spy game, as far as Ron knew.

“So, are there more counterparts with different names?” Luna asked.

“I checked for different first names after I heard about Malfoy,” Hermione said. “But now I have to look through several files of suspected allies or contacts of Kirikov to check if I recognise their pictures.”

Well, at least that meant that they’d get more information as well. This exchange wouldn’t be completely one-sided, then.

Though, Ron felt, that wasn’t much of a consolation.

*****

She was looking at the ruins again, Ron noticed. And she had that wistful expression on her face that he wasn’t certain he liked. It made her look beautiful - but it also made him remember that she wanted, more than anything else, to return to her own world. Where her Ron lived - probably - and everyone was a wizard.

It was still closer to the full moon than the new moon, so the ruins were visible despite the lateness of their ‘evening stroll’. And they were far enough away from the laboratory that the odds of someone having planted listening devices here were low.

“You’ll get home,” he told her, forcing himself to smile as she turned to look at him.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Just being honest,” he said. “Want to check out the ruins?”

She drew a deep breath, biting her lower lip. “It’s not Hogwarts.” After a moment, she added: “It’s too small. Hogwarts is a huge castle and covers most of this side of the lake.”

“And there’s no laboratory.”

She chuckled. “No, there isn’t. But there’s a small pier near that spot, where the first-years arrive by boat.”

“Ah.” She had mentioned that before. And a giant squid. “Must have been nice to have a lake so close. Our school - mine and Harry’s - didn’t have that. If we wanted to swim, we had to go to the dinky pool in town.”

“We didn’t often swim, either,” she said. 

Probably because of all the monsters in the lake, Ron thought. And wizards might not need to learn to swim. He stepped closer to her and smiled when he felt her arm wrap around his waist. “Say… is there any chance that Kirikov might be Karkaroff? Transported to this world by accident?” And presumed dead, like Hermione probably was.

She shook her head. “No. The odds of such a thing happening twice, and linked to the same world… No. And if he were, I doubt that he could have taken over Kirikov’s identity and fooled the Russian intelligence services. Or wanted to. And he would have moved against me long ago. He would have known about me, after all, after my arrival.”

He nodded. That was good reasoning. “But we still don’t know why he is coming after you.”

“Dumbledore thinks he knows I’m not the original Hermione. That seems to be the most plausible explanation. As to how he knows...” She shrugged.

“We’ll find out,” Ron told her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

He had some suspicions. And he knew Harry, and probably Hermione, shared them.

There weren’t many reasons why someone would kidnap a child, after all. And fewer reasons why a former KGB agent would know about it, or be involved in it.

And all of them were awful.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, August 28th, 2005**

Halfway through ‘The Vor Game’, Ron closed the book and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a sigh. As much as he loved the series, by this point he knew the plot by heart. Which tended to ruin the experience of re-reading the novel.

“I thought it was supposed to be a great novel. Wasn’t that what you told me?”

He looked up to see Hermione grinning at him from behind her desk. “It is. I’ve just read it a little too often, so all the details come back easily once I start re-reading it.” He snorted. “Besides, you loved ‘Shards of Honour’ and ‘Barrayar’.”

“Guilty as charged,” she admitted, her grin growing wider.

He huffed as he shook his head. “Anyway, you can have it now,” he told her, holding the novel up.

“Finally!” She stood and walked over towards his ‘guard spot’ - to which they had added a bench and a small shelf of books over the last few days. After Dumbledore’s men had finally started to deliver decent novels. Now if only they’d be able to track down new great novels… or, the holy grail, great fantasy and science fiction movies for the lounge.

She didn’t quite rip the book out of his hand, but only because he let go at once, or so he thought. “I still wonder how you found the time to read three books in three days,” he said, scooting over a little on the small bench so she’d be able to sit down as well.

She didn’t sit down, though. She hesitated. But before he could ask what was wrong, she sat down in his lap, almost unbalancing him as he had to quickly adjust to her weight on his thighs. “Most of what I’m doing now is running simulations and then testing them. Which means that I’m often waiting for the computer to finish processing with nothing else to do,” she explained.

“Really?” He didn’t quite believe her. She was usually good at finding more tasks to keep busy. Driven.

“Yes, really,” she replied with a frown that turned into a pout. “I’ve done all the note-taking I need for this batch of simulations.”

“So you could’ve joined us in the woods?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

She blushed a little but didn’t reply. Instead, she flipped the novel around and read the text on the back of the cover.

“Aha!” he said, grinning now.

“I’m still doing the runs,” she defended herself. “But the breaks between experiments aren’t that long. Not long enough that I could take part in your exercises. Long enough to read a few chapters, at most.”

“Too bad,” he replied. “The exercises are useful.” And could be crucial, he thought. 

She shrugged. “My work here’s more important.” Glancing at him, she added: “And, apparently, the exercises aren’t important enough for you to take part in them instead of reading, either.”

That was definitely a smirk there. He snorted in response. “Harry’s running them through an obstacle course. He doesn’t need me for that.” And, he left unsaid but understood, the course had taken some time to prepare, long enough that anyone could have placed surveillance around it.

“Ah.” She nodded. “Well, I appreciate the company.”

“Even after I surrendered the next book in the series?” he asked, smiling to show that he wasn’t serious.

“Yes,” she said, rather emphatically. “It does get a little lonely in the lab.”

Of course it would feel lonely without anyone who knew the truth behind her experiments. Without anyone who knew the truth about her. Who could be trusted. And she had spent years doing that. Living like that. 

He didn’t say anything, though - he just wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her a little closer.

And wished that he didn’t have to let go of her ever again.

Of course, not even ten seconds later, her computer beeped.

“Oh!” She jumped up. “The calculations are done! Time to check them experimentally!”

Before he could say anything, she was at her desk, typing up a storm. 

He wandered over - she didn’t seem to notice - and peered at the screen, then shook his head - he couldn’t make heads or tails of the data there.

“...and then reduce the intensity here… yes… and tweak this gauge a little…” he heard her mumble while she took notes for her log. “Battery’s charged, the cage’s ready… Here we go!”

She pushed a key, and Ron heard the now familiar whine as the generators started up. A moment later, the quantum mirror began to blink as small sparks were produced on its surface - as usual.

Wait! No, there were no sparks on the cage’s surface - something had appeared in the centre of the cage. In mid-air. Something that shone brightly.

Bloody hell!

But the light winked out a moment later, leaving the cage empty and powered down. “Well…” he started to say.

“Oh my God! A proto-reaction!” Hermione interrupted him with a gasp, her eyes wide open. “And it lasted long enough to be visible!” She started typing like a maniac, windows popping open on her screens only to be closed after a second or two - barely long enough to catch the rows of numbers or graphs on display. “This… Oh, I didn’t expect that. Not so soon. Or so… Oh! Of course!”

Ron opened his mouth to ask what exactly had happened but refrained from disturbing her and settled for leaning against the wall and simply watching her work. And smiled when she managed to leave a smudge on her cheek when she distractedly scratched herself with a pen.

After about a quarter of an hour, she took a deep breath and leaned back from the keyboard.

“Done?” he asked.

“Done? No, of course not. I just started the next batch of simulations!” she exclaimed, turning towards him. And pouted when she saw him grin at her. “And you knew that.”

“Guilty as charged,” he replied.

She snorted at that, then beamed at him. “But this is a breakthrough. A proto-reaction formed! And it was almost stable, too!”

“A proto-reaction?” He tilted his head.

“It’s the first step to a dimensional rift. Unguided and uncontrolled - apart from requiring a constant supply of power - but it proves that my theory is accurate!” She jumped up and hugged him. “Now all that’s left is to control the reaction, amplify it by a few orders of magnitude, aim and focus it and synchronise it so it connects to my home dimension!”

“And that’s all that’s left?” he asked.

“Well, yes.” She pulled back and nodded at him. “It won’t be easy, of course, and will require a lot of work, but it’s like…” She scrunched her nose. “It’s a breakthrough. Not literally - no dimension was breached - but scientifically.”

“Ah.” But theoretical breakthroughs usually took years to be turned into workable technologies. “And how long will it take to achieve that?”

She blinked, then her eyes unfocused while she mumbled something under her breath that he didn’t catch. “Well, still a few months at the earliest. That’s an estimate - this sort of progress cannot be easily predicted, after all.”

“Unless you have a talent for Divination?”

She snorted at that.

He smiled at her, though as happy he was for her success, a part of him didn’t feel like cheering. A few more months, perhaps even less, and she would return to her home world. And to the other Ron.

*****

“...so you can open mini-portals now?” Luna asked as she refilled her plate at dinner.

“No. I can now build a tool that, with some refinement, will allow me to open a portal,” Hermione replied.

“Oh.” Luna looked disappointed. “Being able to open portals would have made kidnapping Kirikov an easy task. Just open a portal behind him, grab him and close it before anyone notices anything!”

“That’s not how it works - the portal opens to another dimension, not to another location.” Hermione shook her head, her messy ponytail swinging. “It needs to be anchored on both ends, too, and that isn’t possible anywhere but at specific locations.”

“And this is one such location,” Ginny said.

“Yes. The dimensions are ‘closer’ here, in a way.” She shrugged as if she didn’t have any idea why this was the case. But she had told Ron her hypothesis - that a constant, powerful presence of magic in one location would affect the entire area, even ‘leaking’ towards parallel dimensions. It sounded plausible to him - but he had no idea about magic; he was no wizard, after all. And at the end of the day, all that mattered was that the portal would open.

“Well, how large will the portal be?” Sirius asked.

“Not large enough to drive a tank through,” Hermione said in a flat voice.

“What about a tiny tank?” Sirius beamed at her and moved his hands slowly together as if they were compressing something.

Ron couldn’t tell if the other man was serious or merely joking. But Hermione was annoyed anyway. And Ron wasn’t happy either - Sirius wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was. Ron doubted that Dumbledore would simply dismiss this as a silly joke.

“Well, if the portal is too small then we can send my drone through,” Luna proposed. “As a scout.”

Hermione shook her head. “I fear that it wouldn’t work well on the other side. Too much interference.”

“Aw.”

“But we can take it with us when we’re scouting around,” Ron said. That would allow them to take a look at an area before risking themselves.

“Oh, good! I can’t wait to see the other world!”

Ah. She was afraid of being left behind, Ron realised.

“We’ll need to determine whether it’s safe, first, though,” Hermione told her. 

“It’s better to lose a drone than a friend,” Luna replied.

Well, she was correct, Ron had to admit. But he loathed the idea of Luna or Ginny risking their lives. No matter how hypocritical that was. 

Yet he didn’t think they’d be able to keep the others from going with them. And leaving them with Dumbledore and Grindelwald might not be much safer, anyway.

Which reminded him that the closer Hermione came to finishing her work, the closer they were to having explain magic to Dumbledore. He really wasn’t looking forward to that.

*****

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, September 19th, 2005**

“Where’s the cake?” Ron heard Ginny ask loudly as he entered the lounge.

“It’s still in the oven. Mum’s recipe calls for sixty-five minutes. It’s still twenty short.”

“What? Luna, dinner starts in ten minutes!”

“Yes. But it’ll be at least half an hour after that before we get to eat pudding!”

“And what if it burns while we eat dinner?”

“The cooks won’t let that happen. And I set the alarm clock on the oven - and my own alarm clock, in case the one on the oven malfunctions.” Luna nodded several times in that familiar manner of hers. “So don’t fret - everything will be fine.”

Ginny huffed but didn’t contest the point. Instead, she turned to glare at Ron. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to keep her busy until everything’s ready for our surprise!”

“She’s taking a shower,” he told her. Well, she’d probably finished by now. “And she’ll be here on time. You know her.” Hermione was never tardy if she could help it.

“Or she’ll be here too early!” Ginny complained. “Come on! Don’t stand around being useless! Help Harry set the table!”

Sometimes, it was very obvious that Ginny was Mum’s daughter. Not that Ron would say so - that would only start an argument. As would trying to explain that Hermione wouldn’t be too early, either - it wasn’t as if she wouldn’t guess that they were doing this. Not after Ginny’s birthday party. He was grinning as he joined Harry at the table, which was now covered with a white tablecloth.

His friend smiled wryly at him and handed him the cutlery. “Just go along with her,” he whispered.

Ron snorted. As if he needed to be told that - he had grown up with her, after all. He knew how to handle her - usually, at least. Ginny had been going a little stir-crazy lately, what with being practically confined to the laboratory and lake for weeks. She had leapt into organising Hermione’s birthday party with a drive that would have impressed - and pleased - Mum.

“Sirius! The decorations are crooked!”

“They’re supposed to be that way!”

“No, they aren’t!”

“Yes, they are!”

And she hadn’t been the only one. Luna hadn’t offered to bake a cake using her mother’s recipe - she had stated that she’d be doing so, and in a tone that brooked no objection.

And Sirius… Ron sighed as he took a stack of small plates to distribute. Sirius would have probably done worse than Luna and Ginny if he hadn’t had his poker nights with the staff, but he wasn’t exactly doing well.

“And I still say we should have gotten a miniature tank as a gag gift.”

Case in point. Ron snorted. Hermione would’ve probably managed to use accidental magic to turn Sirius into a tank if he had done this - everyone was heartily sick of Sirius’s plans for a tank.

Now, a flying invisible sports car, on the other hand…

Meanwhile, Ginny had finished fixing the crooked decorations and turned back to inspect the table. She rearranged a few teaspoons, but, apparently, didn’t find anything else that needed fixing.

And then Ron heard the door opening in the hallway behind him, and Ginny gasped. “Alright, everyone - line up here!”

“And get ready to sing!” Luna said.

“No, the singing comes right before the cake!” Ginny snapped.

Another of Mum’s rules, Ron thought with a smile.

Luna was pouting but lined up with the rest of them, and she was beaming again when Hermione entered the lounge. “Happy birthday, Hermione!” everyone announced.

Hermione’s smile wavered between pleased and almost shy before settling on happy. “Thank you, everyone.”

“I made a cake - well, I’m still making it; it’s in the oven - but we let the cooks cook the meal,” Luna told her. “I hope that’s OK.”

“We picked the menu, though,” Ginny explained. “Your favourites, according to Ron,” she added with a glance at him.

“And we got you gifts, of course!” Sirius said, pointing at the small side table in the corner.

“Thank you!” Hermione repeated herself. She sniffled once, even, before she started hugging everyone.

Ron wondered, briefly, if she’d have started crying if she hadn’t expected something like this - she had been under a lot of stress herself, mostly self-inflicted in his opinion, as she’d struggled to refine her experiments.

He snorted as she embraced him. This wasn’t the time to dwell on her work. This was the time to celebrate her birthday and to forget their problems for a while.

*****

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Hermione, happy birthday to you!”

Luna sang more loudly than everyone else put together, but Ron had expected that. And since she was carrying the cake into the lounge, it evened out. Sort of.

“Here! My mum’s secret recipe - Lovegood Cake!” Luna announced as she set the cake down on the table, its candles now the only source of light in the room. “Now make a wish and blow out all the candles!”

“Alright,” Hermione replied, stepping a little closer to the cake. Ron saw her checking her hair for any stray strands that might have escaped her ponytail before she bent down. After a moment’s hesitation, she inhaled and then blew at the candles. She managed to extinguish the last candle with a slight effort, then straightened and smiled at everyone. “Thank you.”

“What did you wish for?” Ginny asked.

Before Hermione could answer, though, Luna piped up: “Cut the cake! It’s time for pudding!”

Laughing, Hermione grabbed the knife Luna was waving in her direction and started to cut the cake, then blinked at the sight of vanilla and caramel pouring out as soon as she pulled a slice away.

“My counterpart never made a Lovegood cake for you?” Luna asked, pouting.

“Actually, no,” Hermione said. “I think they had different family traditions.”

“Oh.” Luna frowned, then perked up. “So this is new for you! Dig in! I’ll cut the rest!”

Dividing the cake involved not as much cutting as spooning up the mixed sauces, but, again, Ron had expected that.

“Mhhh.” Hermione closed her eyes, savouring the taste. “This is excellent!”

“Yes!” Luna agreed, barely intelligibly since she had stuffed her mouth with cake.

“And enough calories to keep a soldier fed for a day,” Sirius added with a slightly nasty grin.

Ginny scoffed at him. “You just want to scare us off from having seconds so there’s more left for you.”

“What? Perish the thought! I was merely complimenting the cake!”

No one believed him, of course. Ron shook his head at the transparent excuse. And smiled at the levity it spawned - all of them needed a good laugh.

“So… what did you wish for?” he asked Hermione as Sirius and Ginny dragged Harry into their silly argument and Luna sneaked another slice for herself.

“That all of my friends were and stayed safe,” she replied.

Oh? He cocked his head at her. “Not speedy success in your work?”

She shook her head. “No. I know I’ll succeed sooner or later.”

But she didn’t know how her friends in her home dimension were doing. Or how the hunt for Kirikov would end. He nodded. “So… is wishing while blowing out candles on a cake a special tradition in your Britain as well?”

“Just a custom. Nothing special,” she replied after a moment.

So her wish wouldn’t magically come true. Too bad - not that he had really expected such a thing. On the other hand, Hermione’s home world, or at least Wizarding Britain, had some really odd parts. If owls delivered letters and snakes had a magical language, why couldn’t cakes be magical as well? He laughed at his own foolish thoughts.

“What’s so funny?” she asked with a slight frown.

Mentioning magic wouldn’t be a good idea so he said: “I was thinking about weaponising cakes.”

She chuckled at that. “Like rock cakes that are as hard as rocks, thrown at the enemy?”

“Or giant cakes that drop barrels of sticky caramel sauce on the enemy and get them stuck,” he added before he saw that she seemed to be sad. Had he made her remember another tragedy? “Hey! It’s your birthday! No moping around!”

After a moment, she nodded, smiling - though it felt a little forced, still. “Do you know that this is the largest birthday party I’ve had in years?” she said.

That was sad to hear, even though he should have expected it - she hadn’t wanted to make friends, after all. Not when she was planning to leave this world. So it had probably been just herself and the Grangers. Her counterpart’s parents. Whom she planned to leave as well, once her work was done. Damn.

Once more, Luna and Sirius came to the rescue. “And now, the presents!” Sirius announced.

“Yes!” Luna replied, dashing out of the lounge again, towards her room. Half a minute later, she returned with her arms full of packages. She almost dropped one but managed to catch it between her chin and another package before she dumped the whole lot on the table. Ron saw Ginny pick up a package and wipe some caramel-chocolate mix off the underside, but the rest seemed to have avoided a sticky landing.

“Open them!” Luna demanded, beaming widely at Hermione.

Smiling, she stepped up and started unwrapping her presents - methodically and carefully, Ron noted; she didn’t tear the wrapping paper off like Luna would have. Or most members of his family.

By chance, she opened Ron’s present first. “Oh, Lord of the Rings, box set?”

“A classic,” he told her. 

She leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you!”

More books were unpacked - it wasn’t as if anyone who knew her would think of buying anything else for Hermione. 

Even Luna had bought her a book, although it was a wartime rationing recipe book. As Luna explained with a sad expression: “I didn’t manage to find a book that involves cooking with MREs. This was the closest I discovered. Sorry.”

“Oh, Luna…” 

Hermione hugged her. “Thank you!”

Ron had just started collecting the wrapping paper that Hermione had dropped to hug Luna when someone knocked on the door. Without thinking, he moved between it and Hermione while Harry moved closer to the door - though not directly in front of it. 

“Yes?” his friend called out, over Ginny’s muttered: “It’s a private party!”

“May I come in? I have news.”

Dumbledore. And important news? 

“Of course,” Harry replied.

“Thank you,” the old man said as he opened the door. “It’s very gracious of you to receive me while you celebrate Dr Granger’s birthday.”

Ron almost snorted - they were his guests, not the other way around.

“Since you’re here, would you like some cake?” Luna said.

“I’d love some,” Dumbledore replied. “Thank you.”

While Luna scraped together a slice - or something like it; the cake had suffered a little between Sirius’s attempts to get another serving and Ginny’s resolute defence of it - Ron moved the chairs a little to make room for their ‘guest’.

“Oh… delicious!” Dumbledore beamed at Luna after his first taste. “Just the right amount of sweetness. A family recipe?”

“Yes.” Luna didn’t preen, of course, but she still looked pleased.

Hermione, on the other hand, looked impatient. Not that she would be as rude as to press Dumbledore for his news, though. Ron didn’t think so.

But Ron was tempted to, as they waited while Dumbledore finished his slice of cake. Something the old man was aware of, Ron was sure.

“Ah…” The former spy beamed at them when he finally pushed the empty plate away. “Thank you for bearing with me, and for sharing this excellent cake. Gellert thinks I should cut back on the sugar, so dessert has become a rare occasion for us.”

“No pudding?” Luna sounded horrified.

“Well…” The old man flashed a grin at them. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Ron snorted. As if Grindelwald wouldn’t expect that.

Dumbledore sighed. “But enough wool-gathering, I think. I do have important news to tell you, after all.”

“You’ve found Kirikov,” Harry said.

“Acquaintances of mine have discovered a location that is thought to be one of his favourite homes, so to speak.” The old man tilted his head. “And while I trust their work, one cannot, ever, be certain in this sort of business.”

“But you’re sure enough to tell us, and to send us there.” Ron stared at Dumbledore, and the other man nodded.

“Indeed.” Dumbledore nodded. “I consider the information actionable. I would have sent out agents based on less during my time in the employ of Her Majesty’s Government.”

“And where is this possible hideout of Kirikov’s?” Sirius asked.

“In a small village on the shores of the Black Sea, east of the Crimean Peninsula.”

“Oh, good. I haven’t been in a landing operation since the Falklands,” Sirius said, “but you never forget the essentials.”

“I don’t think we’ll invade Russia,” Harry said, which Dumbledore apparently found funny enough to chuckle at.

“It wouldn’t be an invasion, of course. But I have to admit that insertion by sea might be a valid option in this case.”

Seriously? Ron stared at the old man. He thought they’d swim to the shore, like commandos?

“Does that mean you have a submarine for us?” Luna asked.

“I’m afraid that as a civilian, I can’t call on the Royal Navy any more,” Dumbledore answered, “but I can arrange a yacht and scuba gear.”

Ron shook his head and was about to comment when he noticed Hermione had grown tense and was staring at the wall. Oh - she didn’t like diving, did she? Not since that wizard tournament, or so she had told him.

*****

_She came to in the middle of the lake. No, she realised a moment later, when a harpoon bounced off of a Shield Charm near her, in the middle of a battle. Viktor’s Shield Charm. “What’s going on?” she yelled, drawing her wand. Or trying to - she wasn’t wearing her robes, she realised with a shock. They had changed her clothes after sending her to sleep! She hadn’t agreed to that!_

_“The merpeople haff gone crazy!” Viktor yelled back, his wand moving to recast a Shield Charm._

_What? But… the merpeople were supposed to look after the champions and the hostages, to keep them safe! Dumbledore had arranged that! “This…” No. This was sabotage. Another attempt on Harry! And Ron!_

_“They’re behind us,” Viktor replied. With one arm around her, he couldn’t swim fast._

_She must have yelled their names out loud. “We need to get out of the water!”_

_“I’m trying,” Viktor replied, wand flashing as he sent a curse into the depths below them - where the merpeople were attacking, she realised._

_She needed a wand. How could they have taken her wand?_

_A wave suddenly rose in front of them, then crashed down on them. Hermione held on to Viktor’s arm with all the strength she could muster. If she got separated from him, she’d be dead. Drowned or stabbed. She was helpless without her wand!_

_They broke the surface again, coughing and sputtering. Viktor cried out - he was hurt. A harpoon had hit his leg! He was bleeding. And more merpeople were coming at them - she could see their bodies moving in the depths._

_No. No._

_Suddenly, the merpeople broke off and disappeared. And she heard a screeching sound. Very similar to the sound from the golden egg Harry had won in the first task. Just… fainter. And from the water..._

_Oh. She turned her head and saw that Dumbledore was on a broom, a hundred yards behind them._

_“He must have used sound to drive them away,” she said. The Headmaster spoke Mermish, so he was familiar with them._

_“As long as they stay gone until we are back on land,” Viktor yelled, “I don’t care how he did it.”_

_But she wasn’t really listening to him any more. There, near Dumbledore, were Harry and Ron._ _Safe._

*****


	23. The Insertion

**Black Lake, Scotland, Britain, September 19th, 2005**

“Scuba gear?” Sirius shook his head. “Who do you think we are, the Special Boat Service? Scuba-diving, at night, from the open sea to an unfamiliar shore? That’s too dangerous.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to make the dive yourself - you’d only be using the gear while being towed by underwater sledges operated by experts,” Dumbledore replied.

“I don’t like diving,” Hermione said. She looked very tense, and even Ron reaching out and squeezing her hand didn’t seem to help.

“Oh?” Dumbledore looked at her.

“I had a very bad experience during school,” she told him.

“Does that extend to swimming as well?”

“No.”

“But using scuba gear is still too dangerous,” Sirius cut in again. “A friend of mine was in the Special Boat Service, back when it was the Special Boat Squadron. We would need to spend weeks training for this.”

“I had anticipated about a week of training, but I concede the point.” Dumbledore smiled. “I fear I’ve been a little too optimistic in estimating your capabilities.”

“We could do it,” Harry said at once. “But it’s not worth the risk of something going wrong.”

“Of course,” Dumbledore replied. “Although I don’t think that there are many alternatives. The former USSR remains, despite the end of the Cold War, a dangerous territory for clandestine operations. Following their internal troubles with separatists and terrorists, they have increased their domestic security, and I think we have to assume that Kirikov will have contacts among the security services in the area. I do not think a group of British tourists will escape attention. Certainly not should he be aware of Sokolov’s disappearance.”

“Sokolov was hiding from him,” Hermione pointed out. “And his disappearance hasn’t yet been noticed by the Swiss authorities.”

“Indeed. But, by now, Sokolov’s former bodyguards will have started looking for new employment - and some of them might even decide that selling their knowledge about their former employer’s disappearance is worth the risk of contacting Kirikov. Short-sighted, but that is a common flaw of many in that business,” Dumbledore explained.

“And we can’t pass for locals,” Ron said. Perhaps Americans, but they would still stick out.

“We could split up,” Luna suggested. “Disguise ourselves as couples, for example, and travel separately.”

“That wouldn’t have fooled my old opponents in the KGB, and I doubt that their successors have lost their touch,” Dumbledore replied. “And I don’t think that Kirikov lacks contacts in the FSB, either - many of his former co-workers in the KGB will have risen through the ranks of that agency.”

“Swell,” Ron said. “So posing as tourists is too dangerous as well. What does that leave?”

“Insertion by air?” Luna asked.

Ron knew that she didn’t mean parachuting out of a plane. He glanced at Hermione. She shook her head. “I don’t think that that would work.”

“Aw.” Luna pouted. But the distance was too great for an RC helicopter.

“Even experienced parachutists are prone to accidents under such conditions,” Dumbledore pointed out - not that anyone wanted to drop out of the sky.

“That leaves boats,” Sirius said. “Zodiacs would be hard to see, nearly invisible under the right conditions - and much safer than scuba diving.”

“Not entirely safe, though.”

“Far safer than the alternatives.” Sirius shrugged. “And easier to learn to use, too, in case you don’t have expert boatmen on hand.”

“Indeed,” the old man conceded the point. “And my preliminary plans will only require slight adjustments.”

Ron looked at Hermione again - she had been rather uncharacteristically silent during the discussion. And though she seemed to be recovering, she was still tenser than usual, too.

*****

“So… are you alright with the plan?” he asked half an hour later after Dumbledore had left and the party had officially ended, with everyone heading to their rooms. Or Hermione’s room, in Ron’s case.

She sighed and sat down on her bed. Their bed, probably, by now. “Yes.” He frowned, a little, and she added, sighing: “It’s not the insertion by boat. I’m fine with boats. It’s just… Berisha was bad. We almost died. This is going to be more dangerous. We’re not going to have a support team on hand.”

“We didn’t have a support team in Switzerland, either.”

“But we weren’t facing a small army and corrupt authorities there,” she retorted. “In Russia, we’ll be completely on our own.”

“Dumbledore will have people on a ship out at sea.”

“They won’t be able to intervene quickly, or in significant force,” she said. “And he’ll be on his guard. Even if he doesn’t know about Sokolov’s disappearance, he knows about Berisha.”

“You’re right,” he conceded the point. “But we don’t exactly have a choice, do we?”

“We could stay here until I finish my work,” she said. “And with the resources from my home world, we could get to Kirikov without much danger.”

Her wand. Possibly allies, too. “And what if your side lost the war?” he asked. They would have to deal with both the ‘Death Eaters’ and Kirikov’s men, in that case. And Dumbledore might demand his reward before he supported them against Kirikov.

She pressed her lips together and didn’t answer. Which was answer enough. 

*****

**Off Marina Dinevi, Bulgaria, September 21st, 2005**

Well, Dumbledore certainly hadn’t skimped on this mission, Ron thought as he stepped out on to the deck of the yacht that the old spymaster had provided for them. She was large, fast and sported some of the latest equipment available on the market, as well as some additions that would be best kept hidden from any authorities. If Luna hadn’t found out that this particular type of yacht hadn’t been designed until the middle of the nineties, Ron would have thought that Dumbledore had taken a ship built for MI6 with him when he quit the service.

Almost as important as the secret gear on the ship was the fact that while she wasn’t quite an ocean-going yacht, she’d handle the Black Sea just fine. Which was a good thing since they’d be making their way across that sea soon enough - once they had established their cover here in Bulgaria and finished their training for the mission.

Leaning against the railing and watching Bulgaria’s coast in the distance, he sighed. He wasn’t entirely on board with this mission.

“Something wrong?”

That was Harry coming towards him. Ron was obviously not paying enough attention to his surroundings since he hadn’t noticed his friend before Harry had spoken up. He looked around.

“The others are below deck, getting ready for the trip to the port.”

And his subtlety was lacking as well. Ron sighed again. “I’m just…” He shrugged. “I don’t really like this mission. We’re not ready for this.”

“That’s why we’re training,” Harry replied, looking around as well. “But I know what you mean.”

Ron nodded. “Six against a small army, if things are as bad as with Berisha. Or worse.” And two of the six had no business being here at all, in his opinion. “It’s too dangerous.”

“For us, or for the girls?” Harry asked.

“Don’t let Ginny catch you calling her a ‘girl’,” Ron said.

“I won’t.” Harry chuckled. “Though she calls me ‘boy’ often enough.”

“When she’s mad at you.”

Harry nodded. His friend hadn’t forgotten about his question, though, Ron knew. Sighing once more, he said: “Ginny and Luna shouldn’t be on this mission.”

“Luna’s the best amongst us at handling computers and electronics,” Harry pointed out. “And she can pilot the drones.”

Ron pressed his lips together. He knew that. But Luna was, for all her involvement in illegal activities such as hacking, still innocent in many ways. Especially when it came to violence. “And Ginny’s a decent driver?”

Now it was Harry’s turn to frown. “You know how she is.”

“Too stubborn for her own good.” And too stubborn for Harry. They had had this particular talk before.

“At least if she’s driving, she won’t be shooting,” Harry said. 

Ron nodded, even though that was a small consolation. The girls could still get shot at. “Well…” he began, but Harry cut him off.

“They’re coming.”

Ah. Ron nodded and forced himself to smile. It wouldn’t do to start the evening on a low note.

Luna, unsurprisingly, was the first to step on deck, wearing a blue sundress and a wide smile. “Ah, there you are.” She scrunched her nose as she looked Harry and Ron over. “Well, you look boring, but I guess that’s acceptable. We are undercover, after all.”

Ginny, following behind Luna, laughed as she went and hugged Harry. “Well, we know they aren’t boring.” She was wearing a tank top and jeans - both black, matching Harry’s shirt and slacks, Ron noticed.

Hermione, on the other hand, who, together with Sirius, appeared on the top of the stairs behind them, wore capris and a blouse. They fit her well, in Ron’s opinion. Mary Janes, too - sensible shoes in case they had to run. Ginny and Luna’s sandals barely qualified, but at least they weren’t wearing high heels.

He snorted - some of Ginny’s stiletto heels might have threatened to puncture the zodiac that would be taking them to port.

“Well, let’s go - I’m a mite hungry,” Sirius said. “And we’ve got reservations at nine.”

In the best restaurant in the Marina, of course. Even undercover, Sirius preferred to live in style. On the other hand, anyone who had the money to rent a yacht like this one wouldn’t skimp on food during their vacation.

“Let’s go!” Harry echoed his godfather.

They moved to the back, where the zodiac was gently swinging from its mount. Harry waved back the two crew members - Jack and Karl - who were about to lower it. “Let us do it,” he told them. “It’ll count as training.”

“Of course, sir. Does that mean you won’t require a pilot, either?”

“We’ll pilot the zodiac ourselves, but we’ll need one of you with us anyway, to keep an eye on it in port, Jack,” Ron replied.

“As you wish.” Jack nodded. He was smiling, and it seemed honest to Ron. The staff probably had been planning to stock up on a few perishables and snacks in port, he imagined, and that plan would have been ruined if the group had disembarked without one of them.

“Alright, let’s do it like we trained: Slowly and carefully!” Harry ordered.

They tried. But while none of them fell in the water, it wasn’t exactly a smooth operation. They would have to train some more, all of them. As Sirius was fond of saying, they weren’t the Special Boat Service. Or the Royal Navy. At least for the actual mission, the crew could lower the zodiac for them, so they could focus on piloting the thing.

Which, currently, Ginny was doing. And not doing a bad job of it, Ron had to admit.

“Have you ever been to Bulgaria?” Ron asked Hermione a few minutes later, after they had made landfall in the port.

“Yes. When I was still at school.”

“Oh?” He hadn’t heard about that.

“Yes. I visited a friend here.”

A friend? Bulgarian? “Oh. Your date at that ball? Viktor?” She had mentioned him, hadn’t she?

“Yes. Viktor Krum.”

“Viktor _Krum_? Liverpool’s striker?” She hadn’t mentioned his last name.

“Well, he’s a striker here. Back home, he’s a famous Seeker,” she replied.

“Ah.” Swell. She had dated the counterpart of one of the best-paid football players in the Premier League. Who was also a wizard.

At least this Krum didn’t know her. And was unlikely to be in the Marina.

*****

**Off the Bulgarian Coast, Black Sea, September 22nd, 2005**

“I think a landing at Kirikov’s private beach isn’t a good idea,” Luna told them, nodding in a sage manner. “He’s bound to have the entire area under surveillance.” She pointed at a picture on the table. “It’s a pity - it’s the best spot on the coast there.”

“So…” Sirius leaned forward, putting his drink down next to an enlarged aerial picture of the area. “...that leaves the coast east or west of his compound.”

“East,” Harry said. “Otherwise, we’ll have to go through or around the village to the west to reach Kirikov’s house.”

“And the residents and tourists in the village might use the nearby beaches even at night,” Ginny pointed out. “For beach parties or some midnight swimming.”

“They might use the more secluded beaches to the east as well,” Harry told her.

“It’s possible, but not as likely. It’s quite a distance from the village, and they’d have to go around Kirikov’s villa,” Ginny retorted.

The two stared at each other for a moment, then Harry sighed, conceding the point as Ginny grinned. “We’ll have to check for witnesses before landing,” he said.

“I can do that with a drone!” Luna replied. “Anyone around will show up on the thermographic cameras. Though if there are people on the beach, what do we do?”

It was a good question, of course. And it was a good planning session, too - Dumbledore had provided them with good intel about their target. Although the fact that they were doing this in the middle of the day, on the deck of the yacht, with everyone dressed for sunbathing and swimming, was more than a bit distracting, in Ron’s opinion. Even Hermione was wearing a bikini - and Ron didn’t completely believe her claims that it was to make them look like harmless tourists.

He shook his head and focused on the question. “We’ll have to find an alternate landing site in that case.” There was no way to deal with witnesses. Nothing that was both morally acceptable and safe enough, at least. “There are a number of possible locations,” he pointed out. “Though we’ll have to examine them in detail, first.” Which meant having Dumbledore provide them with more intel.

“And we might have to cover Kirikov’s private beach, too,” Sirius added. “If only to prevent him from escaping in a speedboat or something.”

That was true. But there weren’t enough of them to both cover the beach and enter the villa. “We’ll need help,” Ron said.

“The yacht can’t get close enough to the shore to cut off an escape attempt,” Sirius replied. “Not without being detected and revealed as a threat. They’ll have to use a second zodiac.”

“Those aren’t very fast, though,” Ginny pointed out.

That wouldn’t really matter, as long as the zodiac was fast enough to get within weapons range before the hypothetical boat managed to leave the area. As long as they didn’t kill Kirikov by mistake, they could do whatever was needed to stop him.

“I don’t see any boats in the compound,” Hermione said, tapping two pictures showing the entire beach from the air, “but I wouldn’t put it past Kirikov to hide them to surprise an attacker.”

“Of course he’d do that!” Luna piped up. “We might even plan for that and fake an attack on the villa so he’ll flee over water.”

Ron shook his head. “I don’t think we can bring enough firepower to bear to convince him that he can’t hold out until the police arrive.”

“He’s not a normal criminal - he’s got the authorities in his pocket,” Harry added. “But we could search for any hidden boats once we are in the compound before we sneak into his house.”

“And sabotage them!” Ginny said. “Leave him stranded and defenceless on the open sea!”

“That seems a little optimistic,” Hermione told her. “I think it’d be best not to make overly complicated plans.”

“Keep it simple, stupid,” Sirius agreed. “Yes, I think so as well. Disable his escape vehicles, then sneak in and grab him.”

“We could take one of his boats to get away,” Luna suggested.

“They’ll probably have a locator beacon installed somewhere,” Ron told her.

She pouted. “And we won’t have enough time to find and deal with it?”

“I don’t think so,” Harry said.

“Plan for the worst,” Hermione added.

“That would be the Russian military holding a combined arms exercise in the region,” Sirius said. “Do we have torpedoes and surface-to-air missiles? Enough of them to beat the Russians?”

It was a joke, but Hermione had to answer the question anyway: “I don’t think we can withstand the Russian military no matter how many missiles we might have available. But we don’t have to fight them, anyway - we can simply wait until they’re finished.”

“Right,” Ron agreed - even though he didn’t think anyone apart from, possibly, Luna, would deal well with having to wait a few weeks without being able to do anything about Kirikov. Or work on Hermione’s project. And posing as tourists for so long without drawing attention might also be difficult.

“Shall we go for a swim?” Hermione interrupted his thoughts.

He smiled. “That’s a good idea.”

Taking a swim with Hermione would be better than making plans without sufficient information. It wasn’t as if he could do anything about the Russian military, anyway.

*****

**Off Yalta, Ukraine, Black Sea, September 25th, 2005**

Hands on the railing, Ron stared at the city in front of them as the yacht entered the harbour - and all he could think was that this was just a half-way stopover. They had to refuel and resupply, of course. Also, they had to pretend to be tourists so that they would have the correct electronic and paper trail in case the Ukrainians or Russians decided to investigate, so there were several good reasons to make a stop here. And Yalta was a good spot for sightseeing as well, with quite an interesting history, too - thanks to Hermione, he was very much aware of the city’s past.

But he didn’t really care about all of that. He wanted to push on and get Kirikov. Catch the man behind the attacks in London so that his and Hermione’s families would be safe again.

Or, he amended his thoughts with a wince, find out for whom Kirikov was working - although the more he learned about the man, the less likely it seemed that Kirikov was working for someone else. Being a subordinate just didn’t seem to fit the man, not with his background.

Unless, and this was the real ‘worst case’ scenario, Kirikov was working for Vladimir Putin. The current president of Russia had been a Colonel in the KGB, after all. If anyone knew how to control Kirikov, it would be him.

Well, Dumbledore must have considered that possibility as well. Probably felt downright nostalgic, too, Ron thought with a snort.

“Smile, Ron!”

He turned his head and looked at Luna, who was leaning against the railing on his right side. “We don’t have to play our roles, yet,” he replied.

She frowned at him. “You shouldn’t smile because it’s a role, but because it’s nice.”

That made him smile, and she beamed at him. “See?”

“I don’t, actually,” he told her.

“I don’t mean it literally.” She shook her head. “Everyone’s too serious.”

“Well, our situation is serious,” he said. They were going to risk their lives attacking a Russian mobster in his home, after all.

“That’s a reason to smile and laugh.” She turned around, putting her back to the railing. “Besides, you’ve got good reasons to be happy.”

He knew what she meant. Or whom. “I know.”

“Good!” Luna nodded sharply and patted him on the shoulder. “You don’t want her to think you’re not happy when you’re together.”

That cut a little too close. Ron pressed his lips together and ignored how Luna fell silent for a moment, blinking as she realised what she’d reminded him of - and now herself, too.

“Yes.” He nodded. If Hermione thought that, she’d surely decide to return to her home world for good.

“I can’t wait to meet my counterpart,” Luna went on, craning her neck to look up at the sky. “Imagine talking to a different you. With a different life.”

“Yeah,” Ron lied. He didn’t want to meet his counterpart. Who was a wizard and Hermione’s first love, if you didn’t count Krum, which Ron didn’t. “It’ll be interesting,” he added. But painful, too.

*****

**West of Novorossiysk, Black Sea, September 27th, 2005**

“We’ve got the latest pictures of the target area!” Luna announced as she started to clear the table on the afterdeck, interrupting breakfast.

Ron reacted quickly and managed to save his and Hermione’s cups from being put down on the deck. “Here,” he said, handing Hermione’s cup over to her.

“Thank you.” She took a sip - no, a swallow, he noticed. He downed his own. It was time to plan.

“As you can see,” Luna started to explain, “we had a drone do a few flyovers at night, with the engine turned off so the people on the ground wouldn’t hear the noise. Now, the compound is occupied, and judging by the number of guards we see patrolling at night, it’s likely that Kirikov is present.”

“That’s great,” Ron said with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

“Indeed!” Luna beamed at him. 

Sirius agreed with her. “It would have been a pity if we had come all this way, just to find an empty house.”

“I’m more concerned about the actual number of guards,” Ron explained. “That will make sneaking into the area very difficult.” Especially for half-trained people like the girls.

“We can use the tiny helicopter if we need to,” Luna said.

“Our ‘special fuel’ is running a little low, though,” Hermione pointed out.

Ginny shrugged. “Hoarding it won’t help.”

Ron agreed with a nod. Trying to save potions for ‘an emergency’ usually meant you finished the game with half your inventory full of magic potions you’d never use. “If Kirikov’s the one behind the attacks, then snatching him means stopping the attacks. Hermione, you’ll be able to restock soon enough in that case.”

She didn’t look convinced, but Ron hadn’t expected her to - not when he knew she carried a huge quantity of supplies around in her beaded bag of holding. Most of which she would probably never use.

“Well, let’s look for a landing site, first,” Sirius cut in. “If we can’t make it to the coast, it’s all moot anyway. Where’s the tidal chart?”

Luna handed him the chart, and Sirius started studying it. Ron wasn’t well versed in such nautical matters and focused on the aerial pictures of the compound again.

And he didn’t like what he saw. Not at all. 

“They’ve cleared the area around the house,” he said.

“Hm?” Hermione leaned over.

“In the pictures Dumbledore showed us in Britain, there were trees and bushes around the house. They’ve been removed,” he explained.

Harry cocked his head, then nodded. “Yes, you can still see traces in the soil where they pulled the trees out.”

“Yes. They must’ve wanted clear lines of fire.” Ron frowned. “Probably with motion-detectors linked to floodlights, South African style.”

“Oh, that could be nasty,” Luna chimed in. “We might have to go in by air, then.”

“More importantly,” Ron pointed out, “we now know that Kirikov is expecting an attack.”

“Unless this is a decoy,” Harry said. “He fortifies this compound, but is hiding somewhere else.”

“That is a possibility,” Ron admitted. “On the other hand, if this is supposed to be a trap, wouldn’t he want it to look less defended?” Of course, the man could be trying for a double bluff, but Ron didn’t think so. On the other hand, a triple bluff… 

“And would he risk hiding somewhere with - presumably - a small number of bodyguards? That’s what Sokolov did, and we got him,” Harry pointed out.

“He could have a lot of bodyguards in his real hideout as well,” Ginny said.

“That would make it more difficult to remain inconspicuous,” Ron retorted. “And he doesn’t have unlimited manpower - he had to hire mercenaries for the last attack in Britain. If he had enough men on his payroll to guard two houses, he wouldn’t have had to do that.”

“But his bodyguards could have pointed directly to him,” Harry pointed out. “So he wouldn’t have wanted to risk them.”

That was true. “Right.” Ron conceded the point with a nod. “But there’s also the matter of trust. The more guards he hires, the bigger the risk that one of them will betray him. As Sokolov proved, loyalty is hard to come by in this business.”

“We can’t rule out this being a decoy or a trap, though,” Harry insisted. “If Kirikov is supported by the Russian government, or even just the FIS, all bets are off.”

“What? Do you honestly think that the Russian government would authorise the attacks in London?” Ginny gasped.

“If they knew the truth about Hermione’s work, yes,” Ron told her. “But if they knew the truth, and if they were involved, I don’t think that they’d have bungled the whole thing.”

“The FIS isn’t perfect,” Harry said. “Even Mossad has made mistakes in critical operations.”

“Yes, but messing up three times?” Ron shook his head. “That doesn’t look like the work of an intelligence agency like the FIS. Either they would have succeeded, or stopped trying earlier.”

Hermione, who had been uncharacteristically silent, Ron noted, nodded. “No offence to you, but I don’t think you could have protected me against them if they were involved.”

“And we wouldn’t have heard about their inquiries in advance, either,” Ron pointed out. “They wouldn’t have used local ‘talent’, but their own sources.”

“Yes,” Luna nodded several times. “If an oppressive police state like Russia had been involved, they wouldn’t have escalated slowly, but brought the full might of their secret service to bear from the start!”

“So, we probably don’t have to deal with the FIS or the FSB,” Harry summed up. “Just a small private army, mostly veterans of Afghanistan and the Chechen War and former KGB spies.”

Luna nodded. “Exactly. And I don’t think that he has too many former spies among his guards since he probably can’t trust them not to try to take over.”

Which was a small consolation, in Ron’s opinion. But it was better than the worst case scenario.

Marginally.

He went back to studying the aerial pictures. They had a raid to plan.

*****

**West of Novorossiysk, Black Sea, September 28th, 2005**

“Careful, the sea’s not as calm as we’d like,” Jack said as Ron gripped the ladder leading down to the zodiac, where Karl was already waiting. 

Ron nodded, ignoring the slight reproach he heard in the man’s voice. Yes, the sea was rougher than was ideal, but between the weather forecast and the new moon, they only had a limited window of opportunity for the mission. Kind of like D-Day, he thought with a chuckle as he started to climb down.

Halfway down, the yacht suddenly rolled, and he was swung away from the hull. Gasping, he barely managed to bring his legs up to brace himself before the movement reversed and he was slammed against the ship. He hit his hand, too, but fortunately didn’t lose his grip. 

Might’ve been easier to rappel down, he thought as he continued his descent, a trifle more quickly now - he was secured by a line, after all. But that would have been more embarrassing, too.

Karl grabbed his legs as soon as he got close and pulled him into the bucking zodiac. “Scheissidee bei diesem Wetter!” the man cursed as he released the safety line from Ron’s harness.

Ron winced, but there was nothing he could say in their defence. So he sat down and waited for the rest of the group to make their descent. And hoped they didn’t hurt themselves while they were at it.

Ginny quickly climbed down the ladder and, despite being swung around like he had been, she dropped into the zodiac before Karl could grab her. She didn’t even fall down. Ron didn’t have to look at her to know she was grinning, too.

Luna and Hermione, though, were lowered into the zodiac hanging from the safety line without letting them use the ladder. Ron carefully didn’t make a comment, just pulled Hermione in next to him - the sea was growing worse, and a particularly tall wave splashed the entire zodiac just as they took their seats.

Sirius followed, taking the ladder, but bungling it on the bottom half. Karl pulled him in despite his claims that he could finish himself.

Then came the crate of supplies Dumbledore had provided - at least the stuff they hadn’t sneaked into Hermione’s beaded bag yet - before Harry brought up the rear. Ron’s friend got lucky and didn’t have to deal with the yacht suddenly rolling, so he was mostly dry when he reached the boat.

That didn’t last long, of course. Karl turned the zodiac away from the yacht and towards the coast, barely visible in the distance, despite the lights from the village, and everyone was drenched within minutes.

Well, they had dressed for that, mostly - they were wearing neoprene suits under their harnesses. Not the most inconspicuous outfits, but then, if you landed on a foreign shore at night in a black zodiac, odds are even a tourist disguise wouldn’t fool the authorities.

They took about half an hour to reach the shore - or rather, until they were close enough to signal the yacht to do another flyover with the drone, to check for witnesses at their first choice of landing site.

Several waves splashed everyone and left about five inches of water inside the boat while they waited, despite the small aft pump working steadily. But as long as Karl didn’t look worried, Ron wasn’t overly worried either - the German was the one who had to return to the yacht with the boat, after all.

“It’s clear!” Luna announced, taping the radio bud in her ear.

“Go! Go!” Sirius snapped. “Let’s get on dry land before we start to grow gills!”

Ron chuckled, and Hermione huffed as Karl steered the zodiac towards the shore, with the engine at a low setting to keep the noise down. A few minutes later, they reached the beach, and Ron jumped out of the boat, then turned to help Hermione and the others through the surf while Harry and Sirius moved ahead.

“We’re invading Russia in autumn,” he mumbled, then chuckled at the absurd thought before he had to focus on not stumbling and dropping the supply crate Karl shoved at him. “Viel Glück!” the man said, then put the engine into reverse and slowly pulled back from the beach.

Ron gritted his teeth and carried the crate up the beach. So much effort for a deception!

Harry helped him halfway to the treeline - no, it was more of a bushline - past the sand, where the others were waiting. “Let’s get out of these wet clothes!” he whispered as they dropped the crate behind the tallest bush.

Ten minutes later, they were all reasonably dry and wearing camo clothes. Hermione was pushing the last suit into her beaded bag of holding. That left the crate.

They were supposed to bury it nearby according to the plan Dumbledore’s men were privy to, but it was easier to tear it apart and stuff the pieces into the bag as well. And more satisfying, too, after struggling with the thing from the surf up the beach.

“I’ve wiped our tracks!” Luna announced as they finished, pointing back at the beach with a broken-off branch in hand.

Ron checked with a glance - in their limited light, it looked like she had done a thorough job. Certainly good enough that it wouldn’t be obvious come daylight. “Alright,” he said, “let’s move!”

The night wouldn’t last forever, and, come morning, they needed to be under cover.

*****

**West of Novorossiysk, Russia, September 29th, 2005**

MREs for breakfast. Ron glanced at his, then at Hermione. She was smirking at him. “See? They come in handy.”

He snorted. “These are extraordinary circumstances.”

“For which I was prepared,” she retorted.

“Just admit she was right,” Ginny said, leaning over to peer at his meal. “What did you get?”

Ron pulled his ration away from her. “Ask Hermione for another if you don’t like yours,” he told her.

“I’m planning to,” she replied with a huff. “I just want to know what they look like when open. I’m not going to steal your breakfast - we’re not six any more.”

“You were six; I was seven,” Ron corrected her.

She shook her head and turned away to inspect Luna’s meal. Presumably, she had already checked Harry’s ration and deemed it less appetising than her own.

Ron snorted as he started to prepare his meal.

Hermione joined him, her own bag already heating up. She made a point of looking around, then at the mouth of the cave in which they were hiding, where Sirius was serving as a lookout. “I still can’t believe this cave isn’t visited regularly,” she said.

Ron shrugged. “We didn’t find any trace of people in here.” No debris, no signs of a fire, nothing.

“A cave like this should attract teenagers,” Ginny said. “It’s an ideal spot to hide from their parents to make out,” she added with a glance towards Harry.

Of course. Ron shook his head at her antics. She was correct, though. However, they were quite a distance from the village, so it wasn’t really close to a settlement - not counting Kirikov’s compound. “Perhaps Kirikov scared them off?”

Hermione pressed her lips together before saying: “That would indicate that he regularly has his men patrol this area.”

“Perhaps the cave is haunted?” Luna speculated.

“I doubt it,” Hermione retorted. “We should have seen signs of that.”

“Well, it’s still the best hiding place, but perhaps we should consider moving to an alternative spot,” Ron said.

“If there are patrols, then that won’t really reduce the risk of being discovered,” Harry pointed out.

He was correct, of course. Ron still didn’t like it. If something seemed too good to be true, odds were, it was.

*****

They hadn’t seen any patrols in the area, but they left the cave in the early afternoon, anyway - they needed to move to a spot from which they could observe Kirikov’s compound. Preferably during the day, so they didn’t miss anything - even night vision gear only went so far when it came to details. And Ron preferred to move during the day; the guards would be using night vision gear as well, and the group wasn’t properly trained in hiding at night from that. They knew the theory, but they simply hadn’t had enough time to prepare for it in Scotland. 

Trying to escape notice during the day, however, was something for which the girls had trained. Some more than others, of course. He glanced ahead. Ginny and Harry were on point, somewhere.. There! He caught a glimpse of one of them moving, but couldn’t tell who it was - both wore the same camouflage fatigues, after all, and Ginny’s hair was hidden beneath a cap just as Harry’s was.

“Why did you stop?”

He glanced over his shoulder. Hermione had stopped a few yards behind him, running a hand over her forehead - it was still quite hot here - accidentally smearing the camouflage face paint on the back of her hand.

“I wanted to check on Harry and Ginny,” he replied.

“Ah.”

Luna appeared behind her. “Are we there yet?” she asked, then giggled.

Ron snorted. She had been hanging out with Sirius a little too much.

“No,” Hermione replied.

“Aw.” Luna pouted, and Hermione pursed her lips.

“Still no traces of any patrols?” she asked.

“None,” Ron told her. At least Harry and Ginny hadn’t found anything.

“That is weird.”

“It’s not as if Kirikov owns the entire area, and sending out patrols means he would be spreading out his forces and drawing attention,” he pointed out. Kirikov might have the local authorities in his pocket, but even Russia cared enough about keeping up appearances to make running your own patrols unfeasible. Probably.

Hermione huffed. “That’s sloppy, though. His compound isn’t that big - his guards won’t be able to retreat very far in the face of an attack.”

“I don’t think he’s preparing to repel an actual invasion,” Ron said with a grin, which quickly faded. “And the smaller area will make it harder to sneak inside.”

“We’ve got magic on our side, though,” Luna said.

“And a schedule to keep,” Sirius, who had finally arrived, told them. “Keep moving. You can rest later.”

Sometimes, Sirius was a little too much the officer.

But they got moving, Ron leading Luna and Hermione through the worst of the terrain. Between Luna’s training and Hermione’s experience, they managed well enough, but they were the weakest among their group when it came to such things.

Their other talents made up for it, of course.

They still took an hour until they had finally made it up the last ridge separating them from Kirikov’s villa. A ridge that reminded Ron a little too much of the one on which they had almost become spider-food in Kosovo. But they made it, and the bushes would provide decent cover to set up an observation post, as Sirius called it. Drones and cameras were fine, but nothing beat direct observation, in Ron’s opinion.

He crawled the last few yards upwards and carefully avoided disturbing any of the foliage until he could finally study the area through his binoculars.

And he still didn’t like what he was seeing. Even at first glance, it was obvious that the compound had been fortified. Clear lanes of fire, no cover for attackers, reinforced guard posts - Ron wouldn’t even dismiss the possibility of land mines after looking at the remains of the lawn.

This was either a bunker or a trap, in his opinion. Perhaps even both.

*****

_“Is everyone ready?”_

_“Yes,” Ron replied at once._

_She wet her lips with her tongue and tightly gripped her wand before she answered. “Yes.”_

_She caught Harry glancing at her, and frowned. She was ready. And she knew that this had to be done. To protect those who couldn’t fight back. Everyone was doing their part, after all, and it wasn’t as if they had anything better to do while they waited for the latest news about the Ministry’s defences._

_“Do it,” she snapped._

_Harry nodded and walked into the small clearing below them. Once he was in the centre, he cleared his throat, then said: “Voldemort.”_

_A moment later, he apparated to a spot between her and Ron, forming a triangle - or a half-circle._

_Seconds passed. She clenched her teeth. Shouldn’t the Snatchers have arrived already? Or had the other ambushes and attacks by the Order convinced them to stop?_

_Suddenly, markers appeared floating in the air. Ah - Voldemort’s helpers had grown more cautious. Disillusionment Charms, and Silencing Charms as well - she hadn’t heard the typical sound of someone arriving via Apparition._

_But she and her friends had prepared for that - the Human-presence-revealing Charm let them know exactly where their enemies were._

_The clearing blew up, struck by Harry’s Blasting Curse. The markers were thrown away, some of them fading as the still invisible Snatchers died. But some survived._

_Until Ron’s and her curses hit the area._

_“Accio wands!” Harry yelled, summoning the dead Snatcher’s wands - second and third wands were always useful - they could never have enough caches with supplies._

_And Hermione fought to keep her breakfast down and tried very hard not to think about what her curses had just done. Or look at the cratered area._

_But those Snatchers wouldn’t murder anyone ever again._

*****


	24. The Miscalculation

**West of Novorossiysk, Russia, September 29th, 2005**

“Alright,” Ron said, his eyes still on the compound below him. “That’s about thirty yards of open ground between the wall and the buildings.”

“And we don’t know which building Kirikov is staying in,” Harry added.

“Well, he won’t be hiding in the guest house, will he?” Ginny said. “And we can exclude the garage as well.”

“We cannot exclude the guest house,” Hermione replied. “He might count on us doing that.”

“The guest house is a bit apart from the others,” Ron pointed out. You had to walk about fifteen yards on a roofed path to reach the main house. “Less defensible, more isolated. He’s probably got his guards quartered there - the additional ones, in any case.” He didn’t think Kirikov had so many guards present every time he was here. He would have built a bigger guest house - or barracks - in that case, in Ron’s opinion.

“He’s a Russian oligarch; people like him don’t let their guards have better quarters than their own,” Sirius said.

“He’s a former KGB agent,” Harry retorted. “He might expect us to think that.”

“Exactly. But if he’s got a mole in Phoenix Gruppe, he’ll expect Dumbledore to anticipate that,” Sirius replied. “And he’ll be staying in the main building since it has the best defences.”

“We could observe the house for a few days - see if we can spot him,” Luna suggested.

“We can’t stay hidden indefinitely. The longer we take, the greater the risk of being discovered,” Harry said.

“We can’t rush in either,” Hermione retorted.

But, apparently, they could have an argument while observing Kirikov’s home. Ron chuckled at his own thoughts. “In any case,” he pointed out, “we need to find a way to reach the building. I think they’ve placed mines or other traps under the lawn.”

“Or what’s left of it,” Luna said. “But that won’t bother my helicopter.”

Ron slowly shook his head. “But whatever he has on the roof to deter people rappelling down from a helicopter might,” he told her. Kirikov must have planned for a direct assault that dropped attackers directly on top of him.

“I don’t see anything… wait.” Luna inched forward a little, and Ron put a hand on her shoulder to keep her from exposing herself. “The roof cover… looks like a second cover. Probably pressure triggers beneath it. But the helicopter won’t trigger them, or any birds landing on the roof would do so as well.”

“But we would trigger them, once we regain our normal size,” Ron pointed out. “And infiltrating while we’re shrunk isn’t advisable. A single cat could kill us all.”

“Well, if he’s got mines under the lawn, at least he won’t have dogs,” Hermione replied. “But I concur: We shouldn’t plan to move far on the ground so long as even spiders pose a lethal threat.”

Ron shuddered at the memory.

“But that means we still need a way to enter the house,” Luna said. “Unless… we could do what we did in Switzerland: Shink ourselves and go disable the pressure sensors on the roof, then land on it! Or wait until we regain our normal size.”

“I think the area between the roof and the cover won’t be exactly safe for two-inch high people,” Hermione retorted. “And we would need to cover a lot of ground, relatively, to disable all the sensors. Kirikov won’t have skimped on security.”

That was true.

“If we can time it correctly, we could drop on to the ground rather than the roof,” Sirius said. “Skip the minefields, go directly to the door. Or, in this case, the terrace.”

“He’ll have defences there as well,” Ron pointed out. “Perhaps claymore-type mines.” Some of the flower pots looked a little suspicious.

“And the duration of the Shrinking Solution cannot be predicted too precisely,” Hermione added. “The greater the dose, the greater the variation.”

“We could go through the sewers,” Luna suggested. “Sneak through whatever barriers there are while tiny, and wait until we grow again inside the house, then strike!”

“This far from the village, there’ll be a cesspit rather than a sewer,” Ginny said. “And he won’t want to have his waste pollute his own beach.”

“Poo,” Luna commented.

“Exactly,” Ginny replied, and both of them giggled.

Ron sighed. It looked like their only choice was a direct attack. They could clear the mines, probably - a few well-placed explosives should do the job, Bangalore torpedo-style. But then they’d have to fight the dozens of guards alerted by the blast.

And that wouldn’t go well. Although… He blinked, then looked more closely at the garage. Especially its doors.

“I have an idea,” he said.

*****

“I can drop you right on top of the goal.” Luna frowned at him. “I did it before, too!”

“Yes,” Ron agreed as he checked his gear. The sun was setting, so it was time to set out. “But we can’t count on Kirikov being unprepared for something like that. He won’t expect shrunken people dropping from a toy helicopter, but after Berisha, he might expect a toy helicopter to fly into his compound. And he is certainly aware of drones.”

“He didn’t do anything about our drone recon,” Luna retorted.

“It was flying too high above the villa,” Ron pointed out. “But the helicopter would need to fly at a much lower altitude. And you’d have to get far too close to the villa to pilot it.”

“Not with the improvements the helicopter’s received!” Luna protested.

“It’s still too short-ranged,” Ron replied. Kirikov’s guards couldn’t cover every ridge overlooking his home, but he’d keep those in range of small arms covered. And even after Dumbledore’s men improved it, the helicopter was no drone and had a shorter range. And was vulnerable to jamming. 

Not to mention that Ron really didn’t want Luna to be that close.

She frowned, then pouted at him. “Then I should come with you. You’ll need a computer expert.”

He shook his head. “Look, we’ve been over this - you have an important task already.”

She scoffed, sounding quite unlike her usual self, and glared at him, though she didn’t object any further.

For now, at least. He smiled at her, which made her pout again and turn away.

Sighing, he finished his gear check. It was a little unfair that he’d have to carry so much material himself, what with Hermione’s beaded bag of holding being available, but that couldn’t be helped - he couldn’t count on having access to her bag at every moment.

Speaking of… He smiled as he saw her walking towards him. She was already dressed in dark grey fatigues - including a kevlar vest - but hadn’t yet applied camouflage paint to her face. Which made hugging her and placing a quick kiss on her lips much more enjoyable.

Yet, she sighed when he pulled away. “Are you having second thoughts?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “Well, in a way. We’ll have to walk about fifteen miles. Relatively, at least. Through dangerous terrain.”

“Yes.” It couldn’t be helped - they couldn’t get any closer to the compound without being spotted.

“I’ll have to drink a potion afterwards, to be able to keep up,” she said.

“Is that dangerous?”

“Not if you don’t overdo it,” she told him. “Still… once its effect ends, I’ll crash, hard.”

“Ah.” She hadn’t mentioned that before.

“It’ll last for hours,” she added as if she had read his mind. “By the time it runs out, we’ll be done with the mission.” 

Or dead. Or worse. He didn’t like it. It felt too rushed. And even if it was his own plan, he still had some misgivings. But he nodded anyway. “So, let’s go see if Harry and Sirius are ready.”

*****

“You know, if we had a miniature tank, we could be riding in it, instead of walking,” Sirius said.

Ron rolled his eyes - Hermione sighed loudly - as he picked his way around a patch of grass that blocked his way. He stayed off the road, though - he didn’t want to risk exposing himself.

“ _If_ you’d managed to rig a control system we could have used…” Harry replied.

“And all the models of toy tanks that could handle this terrain would have been a little too large,” Ron pointed out. “Someone might have noticed it.”

Sirius grunted. “It would also be safer. Owl-proof.”

Ron flinched. Hearing Hermione talk about how owls hunted had been sobering. He looked at the night sky, knowing he wouldn’t hear an owl in time. “We’re a little small to be their prey.”

“Not for young or small owls,” Sirius said.

“That’s why we’re not on the road,” Harry replied. And, Ron knew, why they weren’t walking in a standard patrol order, spaced out. They didn’t have to worry about people with firearms hiding in the jungle, but animals trying to prey on them. They needed to stick together to be able to help each other.

Ron gritted his teeth. Using a toy tank as transport - even if they had managed to rig one up so they could drive it without needing Luna or Ginny to remotely control it - was still more dangerous than walking, shrunk, along the road leading to Kirikov’s villa. But right now, he felt far too exposed to worry about human guards. And, as in Kosovo, under-armed. Though he was carrying a G3 now, which, even shrunk, should be enough to deal with most small predators, it wouldn’t help much with a fox or owl.

They crested a small hill - well, for their size - and Ron spotted the gate to the compound in the distance. Halfway there. “I think we should take a rest,” he said, after a glance at Hermione. Even without a rifle to carry, she was struggling.

“I can go on!” she protested immediately.

“A break will do us all some good,” he told her.

“Yes,” Sirius agreed. “I’m not as young as I was.”

“That’s true for all of us,” Harry said. “Every day.”

“You know what I mean,” Sirius shot back.

“You’re growing old, yes,” Harry said. Grinning, Ron knew without having to look.

“Something mother never expected of me,” Sirius said.

“She never expected you to grow up,” Harry corrected him. “And you haven’t, have you?”

Ron chuckled at the back and forth as he sat down next to Hermione. “We’re making good time,” he told her. “If all goes well, we’ll be at the villa just before sunrise.” When all of the guards would be tired.

She nodded and then drank some water from her bottle. He followed her example. It wasn’t as hot any more as it had been in the summer, but marching was still thirsty work.

They spent the rest of the break leaning against each other and listening to Sirius and Harry argue.

Then they continued their trek. They still had to cover half the original distance - seven to eight ‘miles’. And then, past the gate, half a mile to the garage. And the clock was ticking - the Shrinking Solution wouldn’t last forever. By Ron’s calculations, they were still on schedule - if one included the safety margins on which Hermione had insisted.

But they couldn’t pick up the pace - not when she was already struggling to keep up. He glanced at her, but she noticed and, clenching her teeth, raised her chin and started to walk faster.

Foolish woman. She’d burn out more quickly that way. On the other hand, she might just be stubborn enough to push herself all the way to their goal. Even if it killed her.

Damn.

After, by his estimate, two more ‘miles’, everyone had fallen silent. Not even Sirius was complaining about the indignity of walking as a tank commander any more and was instead focused on walking. 

With Hermione in worse shape than the older man, it fell to Harry and Ron to keep an eye out for threats. At least by sticking close to the road, they didn’t have to re-enact the Burma campaign. The terrain was more like a savannah - which was marginally better. Although, seen through their night vision goggles and them being shrunk, the area looked alien. Not of this world.

But even in the savannah, there were prides of lions hunting. Or, in this case, foxes, smaller mammals, lizards and insects. And branches the size of giant logs on the road’s surface.

Ron blinked. That wasn’t a branch. That was… 

“Snake!” Harry hissed from the front.

There was a giant snake lying on the road. What was it doing there? At night?

Ron blinked. Damn. Of course - it had been soaking up the heat from the road’s surface. That allowed it to be more agile during the night. Or something.

Harry had fallen back. “We need to detour. That monster could swallow all of us whole in a single bite.”

“Well, that’s how snakes eat…” Hermione said, but Ron could see that she was shaking. “But that thing is larger - relatively - than a Basilisk!”

“A Basilisk? The thing your Harry killed with a sword as a kid?” Sirius asked. He was already backing away.

“Yes,” Hermione said. 

Ron moved in front of her. The snake didn’t look like it’d even notice a sword - at least one shrunk to their current size - striking its scales. Nor a few bullets from his G3, to be honest. “We should have taken a Panzerfaust with us,” he muttered. “No matter its weight.”

“Don’t panic,” Harry said. “We’ll simply take a wide detour. It’s resting.”

As if the monster had heard Harry - weren’t snakes deaf? - it suddenly moved, its head rising and its forked tongue slipping out of its mouth.

Tasting, no, smelling the air. And the wind was behind them. Damn. “Run!” Ron yelled, whirling around. Hermione was still in the process of turning when he reached her, so he grabbed her arm and dragged her with him.

“It’s coming!” Harry yelled behind them. Shots followed.

Ron pushed Hermione between two rocks - stones - at the top of the ditch next to the road and knelt down, taking aim. Hell, that thing was fast! Harry and Sirius were sliding down the ditch, but the snake would be on top of them in a few seconds.

Ron cursed and fired, aiming at the thing’s head. Its eyes. Or tongue. Or whatever was soft and vulnerable next to all those scales. Rapid aimed fire. But his bullets didn’t seem to hurt the monster - it was still chasing Harry and Sirius.

He flipped the selector switch and fired a long burst at the snake. Weirdly, it was far easier to control the gun than, in his experience, it should have been. Not that he was complaining - he hosed the side of the snake’s head down, finally hitting one of its eyes, and the snake reared up.

“Fire in the hole!” 

Something flew towards the snake. Ron threw himself back, over Hermione. A second later, the grenade went off.

He jumped up, almost stepping on Hermione, and raised his rifle again. The snake was swinging its head around but didn’t seem to be hurt. Not much, at least. Ron emptied his magazine in another burst, reloaded and fired again, but to no effect - other than drawing the monster’s attention.

“We’ll have to use white phosphorus,” Sirius yelled. “Burn it!”

But that would draw attention. Probably start a fire, too - and at night, the guards wouldn’t miss that. 

But it beat being eaten by a damned snake of gargantuan size. Ron lowered his rifle and grabbed one of the WP grenades. “I’ll lure it over to me!” he yelled. “And then I’ll burn it.” It was too far away for a decent throw - and they didn’t have many of the grenades, not until they could access Hermione’s bag again, at least.

“No!” Hermione yelled behind him. “That’s too dangerous!”

“We have to,” he retorted, already moving on to the road’s surface, exposing himself. “Come on, you stupid snake!” he yelled.

The snake, once more, seemed to hear him since it whirled and shot towards him. Almost… He gripped the grenade.

“Ron! Down!” Harry yelled. “Down!”

Without thinking, Ron dropped and rolled to the side, between two stones on the road, before he realised that he had just gone to ground in front of a giant snake. 

He was dead.

But before the snake reached him, something passed right over him - he could feel the air pressure change as it flew - and hit the snake.

“Move!” Harry yelled. “While they’re fighting!”

Ron scrambled up, blinking as he realised that a huge owl had attacked the snake. And was ripping it apart. Or giving it its best try.

That could’ve been him.

Bloody hell!

He ran.

Everyone ran. They didn’t stop running for about half a mile, weaving around knots of grass and the occasional larger rock, until Hermione stumbled. Ron, running behind her, failed to catch her and she fell. He helped her up, but her legs were wobbling, and she was panting. “Harry!” he yelled. “We’re far enough.”

His friend looked back, then stopped after a glance at Hermione. “Alright. Let’s take cover behind that rock there.”

Sirius almost collapsed as well after reaching the rock - he leaned against it and slid down to the ground, struggling to breathe as he pushed his goggles up on his forehead. “Bloody damned snake.”

“Scarier than a spider,” Ron agreed as he helped Hermione sit down, then joined her on the ground.

Hermione’s response was unintelligible - she was still gulping down air - but she probably agreed as well.

“And yet, without the snake, the owl might have attacked us,” Harry pointed out.

“Swell. Now I have two sources for my nightmares,” Ron said. 

“Next time, we’ll take a tank.”

Well, that was a predictable comment from Sirius. Ron still chuckled. They were alive. And even unhurt. But they had been lucky. And they wouldn’t be lucky forever. Even with weapons, it was just too dangerous to travel outside when shrunk to this size.

“Let’s hope…” Hermione finally managed to say, “... that there aren’t more of those snakes in the area.” She took another deep breath. “Or more owls.”

Damn. 

“We need to move,” Harry said. “The clock’s ticking.”

“In a minute,” Ron replied, nodding towards Hermione. She wasn’t yet in any condition to go on.

“I can take a potion,” she said.

“Let’s wait with that,” Ron told her. It would take them a few more hours to reach their destination.

She was probably glaring at him - it was hard to tell, with their goggles - but, after a moment, she slowly nodded. “Let’s go.”

They weren’t as fast as before - the sprint had exhausted Hermione, and Sirius didn’t look as chipper as he tried to sound, either - but they were still more or less on schedule. If they could keep up this pace.

And if no other monsters attacked them. Ron clenched his teeth at the thought - he should have found another way to close the distance. Perhaps if they had used parachutes and the drone from the yacht… but they wouldn’t have been able to hide that from Dumbledore’s men. And they couldn’t have used Luna’s helicopter.

They pressed on, following the road - though they stuck to the tall grass on one side. Ron would rather deal with a spider in the grass than dodging a hunting owl.

They met a large bug - about the size of a boar relative to them - on the way, but it ignored them. No other monsters, fortunately. Nothing that posed a threat, at least, before they reached the gate to Kirikov’s compound.

Ron checked his watch. Still on schedule - barely. And that was including Hermione’s safety margins. “We’ll need to cut across the lawn,” he said. The road was too exposed, for his taste. A guard watching it might spot them.

“Yes,” Harry agreed.

“But half of it is mud,” Hermione said. “That’ll be hard to move through.”

“Half of it isn’t,” Sirius pointed out.

“Your soldiers must have loved your comments,” she told him, and Ron knew she was rolling her eyes behind the goggles.

Sirius laughed. “They did.”

“Let’s go,” Harry said, already ducking under the gate, followed by Sirius.

“Well, if this were my house, I’d fire the gardener,” Sirius said as Ron, bringing up the rear, passed under the gate himself.

He was commenting on the pitiful state of the lawn, Ron guessed - patches of mud alternated with patches of grass. You could easily see where the trees and bushes had been removed. Obviously, Kirikov cared more for security than aesthetics.

A sound stance, in Ron’s opinion.

They started the last leg of their trek - about half a mile across the lawn, to the garage. And they had made good time - more or less; the Shrinking Solution’s effect wouldn’t fade before they were safely inside the garage. Though finding and disabling the expected camera inside might mean they cut it a little close.

“We were right,” Harry said, interrupting Ron’s thoughts. He was pointing ahead, at a muddy patch. Where Ron could see a sliver of metal.

A mine. “He won’t have placed just one mine,” Harry said.

“No,” Ron agreed. “And he won’t have stuck to hiding them in the mud, either.”

“We’re far too small and light to trigger a mine,” Hermione said.

“But what if they can be triggered remotely?” Ron retorted.

Well, in a way they were counting on that.

Ron snorted as they continued towards the garage. He still felt queasy, knowing that he was likely walking over mines the size of, well, a tank. On the other hand, mines meant there wouldn’t be any dogs or cats.

He vastly preferred feeling a little queasy to being swallowed whole by a monster the size of a bus.

When they reached the garage, the gap between the ground and the garage door turned out to be a little narrower than Ron had expected - though still wide enough for them to squeeze through. With some effort, and after dropping his webbing, in Ron’s case.

“Told you to go easy on dessert,” Harry joked on the other side.

Hermione, the traitor, giggled.

Ron rolled his eyes, not that anyone could see it. “Very funny,” he said. It wasn’t his fault that he was slightly more solidly built than Harry.

“Sure, sure.” Sirius snorted. “Now let’s find whatever security camera is around before we are discovered.”

“We still have…” Hermione trailed off. “About twenty minutes before the Shrinking Solution’s minimum duration is reached.” That didn’t mean that the effect would fade right then, of course - that could vary, and significantly, given the dose they had used.

Still, they had no time to waste if they wanted to play it safe. Ron quickly slipped back into his webbing and started looking around. The garage was large enough to house half a dozen cars, and, currently, two SUVs, a limousine, a sports car and a pickup truck were parked inside.

“Here,” Harry announced, pointing at the back wall.

“Is that the only one?” Sirius asked.

“I haven’t seen any others,” Harry said.

“I didn’t see any, either,” Ron added. The camera covered the garage door, the door leading to the main house and most of the garage itself. Still, he would have expected another camera covering this one. On the other hand, the more screens a guard had to watch, the easier it was for them to miss something.

“Well, disable the thing,” Sirius said. “Before you grow too much to hide.”

“We probably could stay out of sight by standing right beneath it,” Harry pointed out. But he was already moving towards the camera.

Ron followed him. “That’s one hell of a climb,” he said. He couldn’t see a lot of handholds.

“Do you want to switch?” Harry asked.

“No, thanks,” Ron shot back, chuckling.

“Please get on with it,” Hermione said, clearly not amused. Well, she wasn’t the one who had to make that climb.

But they couldn’t waste time. Harry pulled the modified launch grapnel hook out of his pouch and started setting it up on his M4.

“Remember, if you miss with the first shot, you’ll need to use blanks for the second,” Sirius told them.

Harry didn’t bother answering and shot. The ceiling was, at their current size, almost beyond the range of the hook, but Ron’s friend managed to make the shot - the hook hit a cable in the back near the camera, and got stuck. 

They tested the line - it held both their weights combined. “Good shot,” Ron commented.

“Thanks,” Harry replied while he set up his climbing harness.

Then he started climbing and Ron secured him. Harry had to cover roughly seventy-five yards, straight up. Without being able to brace against the wall, Ron didn’t think Harry would make it, and even so, his friend had to take breaks on the way.

But Harry reached the camera. Ron saw him pull out the thermite charge, place it and then rappel down so quickly, it was more of a controlled fall for most of the distance.

“You set it for one minute, didn’t you?” Ron shook his head.

“We’ve got no time to lose.” Harry disconnected the line from his harness and ran to the side. A moment later, the charge went off, quickly burning through the cables running to the camera - and through the grapnel hook.

Ron waited until the line had hit the ground, then hurried to gather it up before sprinting to hide with the others inside some spare tyres stacked by the back wall. If Kirikov ran a tight ship, guards would be checking on the garage at any moment.

And here they were! Both the door to the house as well as the garage door were pulled open and four men with assault rifles - Kalashnikovs - charged inside and quickly covered the entire garage. They were good - none of them even glanced at the camera until they had searched the garage for any intruders hiding inside, as Ron could see through one of the threaded holes in the wheel’s hub.

They didn’t bother checking inside the spare tyres, though. Of course not.

And, judging by the way they relaxed after an exchange in Russian, they dismissed the loss of the camera as a short-circuit or something similar. As Ron and his friends had counted on. At this time, close to sunrise, they were also unlikely to force a technician out of bed to immediately replace it.

Which meant Ron and his friends had the window of opportunity they would need to get to Kirikov. Once they had grown back to their natural size, of course. Which shouldn’t take too much longer.

Or so Ron hoped. He didn’t like waiting. Especially not waiting like this - close to their target, but unable to strike, and not knowing how long they’d have to wait until the potion had run its course for all of them.

The guards left the garage, showing much less discipline or focus than when they had entered. Another sign that their ruse had worked. And they turned off the lights.

Ron heard Hermione let out a breath of relief. “Did you doubt the plan?” he asked.

“They could’ve suspected some tampering or sabotage,” she replied.

“Yes,” Sirius agreed. “Russians are supposed to be paranoid, suspecting sabotage everywhere.”

“You didn’t mention that when we were planning this,” Harry said.

The older man shrugged - Ron noticed as he turned his head to check on them. “Those were the old Russians. The communists. These are the new ones.”

“Led by an old KGB agent,” Ron pointed out.

“Common sense and orders start to fade, kind of, when it’s four in the morning and no one’s shooting at you,” Sirius retorted.

Ron didn’t share his rather cavalier attitude, but this wasn’t the time to make an issue of it. Their plan had worked. Now it just needed to keep working.

“We should move behind the tyres,” Hermione said. “The Shrinking Solution could stop working at any moment now.”

Ron nodded. He’d prefer not to be inside a spare tyre when he suddenly grew to several times the size of said tyre. Hermione had been a little vague about the possible risks of that. “Yes. Let’s move.”

But before they could move, the door leading to the main house was opened again, and Ron saw two figures enter the garage. He froze, holding his breath. Had someone ordered the camera to be fixed right now?

The lights were turned on again, and he clenched his teeth. “Yaxley!” he hissed. So the traitor was still alive.

And Hermione gasped. “Greyback!”

Greyback? Oh, the werewolf! He didn’t look like most werewolves that Ron had read about. He wore his hair long and in a ponytail, but it didn’t look attractive, not with the man’s receding hairline. And the beer gut didn’t really make the bloke look attractive, either. But there was something about his eyes that Ron didn’t like. And he was certainly built.

“You’re not going to check the damage?” Greyback asked, chuckling.

“Do I look like an electrician?” Yaxley scoffed.

“I thought you were supposed to check for sabotage.” The man’s voice had a mocking undertone. “Wouldn’t want to fail Kirikov for the last time, would you?” He chuckled at his own remark.

Yaxley glared at him. “You’ve got a big mouth for a scumbag who can be easily replaced by any other thug.”

“Really?” Greyback sneered and nodded towards the damaged camera. “The lack of surveillance making you feel brave? Or mouthy? Or has the cabin fever finally got to you? The guards have a betting pool on when you’ll crack.” He chuckled once more. “At least I can go outside.”

“That’s because you’re a nobody.” Yaxley sneered at him. “Just a filthy murderer.”

“Oh, acting all high and mighty, are we? Looking down on the _criminal_ , huh?” Greyback shot back. “You’re not a cop any more. Just another wanted _traitor_. Someone who had his own comrades killed!”

“At least I’ve got useful skills and knowledge,” Yaxley snarled. “Unlike you.”

“You know too much, you mean.” Greyback shook his head and walked between the two closest cars. “And you’re a prisoner. He’s only keeping you alive until he’s got the chit. As soon as you’ve outlived your usefulness, you’re dead and feeding the fishes.”

“You think you’ll survive me?” Yaxley snorted.

The other man grinned widely. “Kirikov knows everything I know, so my knowledge is already useless. And as you pointed out, I lack unique skills. And yet, I’m still alive and well.”

“The only reason you’re still alive is that you claim that you ‘forgot’ where you hid the rest of the body.” Yaxley leaned against the wall, and his scowl grew more pronounced. Greyback’s taunting had to be getting to him. “Sooner or later, he’ll ‘help’ you remember. Once he’s got Granger in his hands, he won’t care about any leverage you think you have on him.”

“He’s already started too much trouble to care about that - thanks to your failures!” But Greyback didn’t look as confident as he tried to sound, in Ron’s opinion.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Yaxley replied. “I know his type. KGB. He’ll tie up all the loose ends sooner or later. And he’ll enjoy it.”

“As long as you’re sooner and I’m later…” Greyback bared his teeth, and, for a moment, Ron thought it would come to blows.

But Yaxley turned away and started to walk towards the damaged camera while the other man laughed.

Leverage on Kirikov? What did they mean? Greyback didn’t strike Ron as particularly smart. And he apparently didn’t know any secrets or have useful contacts, unlike Yaxley. So what…

“Oh, no!” Hermione’s gasp interrupted his thoughts. “I’m growing!”

He froze for an instant. No. Then he was moving - she was climbing out of the tyre. “No!” The two men would see her! He grabbed her leg, but she was already twice his size and halfway out of the tyre. And growing even more. He was dragged out of the tyre himself before he could let go, barely escaping from being crushed by her legs as he slid down the tyre.

Hermione had fallen about a foot on to the ground before she was back to her natural size. He saw her roll and draw her gun, but before she could clear it from her holster, Greyback slammed into her, yelling like a madman, and pushed her down on to the ground again. Her pistol slid across the floor, ending up under the closest car.

And away from Ron’s still shrunken form. He started to run towards them - if Hermione had regained her original size, then he couldn’t be far behind, could he? 

But he stayed tiny, struggling to reach her, while Greyback grappled with her. “Intruder!” the man yelled, lashing out. His fist caught Hermione on the chin, throwing her head back and dislodging her cap.

“What the…” Greyback grunted as his next blow hit her stomach. And Ron was still too far away to intervene - and still tiny. At his current size, his rifle wouldn’t do more than, perhaps, sting the man. But… Ron raced ahead, hand dipping into his pouch. He needed to get closer.

Hermione looked stunned and didn’t resist when Greyback grabbed her hair and pulled her head up to face him. “The hell! Granger! It’s Granger!” he shouted.

And Ron was close enough, finally! He snapped his arm forward and let fly, throwing a grenade that landed on the back of Greyback’s calf.

A moment later, the grenade went off, and Greyback screamed like a stuck pig as the white phosphorus started to burn through his trousers and leg. The big man reared back, flailing, reaching for his calf, trying to put out the fire.

And his screams turned into gurgling, wheezing noise when Hermione stabbed him in the throat with her knife. Ron heard her screaming incoherently as she repeatedly rammed the blade into the man’s throat and chest. Even with his throat cut and his leg on fire, though, he still managed to lash out, sending her knife flying, before he collapsed, blood splattering over her and the floor.

Yes!, Ron thought as he had to jump back to avoid getting caught by the man’s spasming legs. Now they had to… He froze again.

Yaxley was there, gun pointed at Hermione, who was still caught under the dying brute. “Don’t move, Dr Granger,” he said with a sneer, “or I’ll shoot you.”

“Kirikov will shoot you,” she retorted. But she had stopped moving.

“You’ll survive a bullet or two,” Yaxley said. “Kirikov’s got an excellent surgeon on his staff.”

If Ron managed to catch Yaxley’s foot with another grenade… But the man was stepping to the side, away from Ron, until he was behind Hermione, then he roughly pulled her out from underneath Greyback’s corpse before removing her webbing and bag. 

And Ron was still shrunk and couldn’t just dash over the open ground - Yaxley would notice. He took a detour, staying under the car. He just had to get close again.

By the time he reached them, Yaxley had Hermione on her feet, gun pushed into her back. Still… a burning foot would certainly distract him, but could Ron risk Hermione getting accidentally shot?

Before he could decide, though, he heard yelling in Russian - the guards had arrived. Too late. But the guards weren’t yet in the garage, and Yaxley’s attention was on her. And not on the ground.

Ron didn’t hesitate - he sprinted across the floor and jumped on to Hermione’s boot, then quickly climbed up to her ankle, hiding in the folds of her camouflage trousers.

And then he held on with all the strength he could muster as Yaxley marched Hermione out of the garage.

*****

_“Focus, Miss Granger. The key to mastering Occlumency is to focus your mind. Force everything but the object of your focus from your mind.”_

_She tried._

_There is a wall. A stone wall. Solid. Unmovable. Impervious to everything._

_“Do not close your eyes, please. It is difficult to check your progress like that, and you cannot count on your enemies letting you close your eyes, anyway.”_

_She bit her lower lip and met the Headmaster’s eyes, already knowing she had lost her focus. Another failure._

_“If they can force you to open your eyes, can’t they force you to tell them what they want to know, anyway?” Ron asked._

_“That is a distinct possibility,” the Headmaster admitted. “However, while they can physically force your eyes open with enough effort, it is much harder to force your mind open - provided you have mastered Occlumency, of course.”_

_“One Imperius Curse and we’ll happily tell them everything, anyway,” Ron retorted. “Well, apart from Harry.”_

_“That is not entirely accurate,” Dumbledore replied. “While Harry’s resistance to that particular spell is as fortunate as it is special, Occlumency would be of very little use if a single spell could undo whatever protection it provides.”_

_“If it can protect us against the Imperius Curse, then why is that spell so feared?” she asked._

_“Why, Miss Granger, because one would need to be a master Occlumens to have a chance of resisting that curse. And few wizards or witches ever achieve that.” He beamed at her and her friends. “However, I am fully confident that you will manage this before the year’s end.”_

_Hermione wasn’t quite certain she shared the Headmaster’s optimism. But she would do her best anyway. Her friends were counting on her, and she wouldn’t be the weakest link. If they wanted to beat Voldemort, they_ had _to master this._

_“Now, once more: Focus!”_

*****


End file.
